If I Fall
by GALEXY-ff
Summary: "Jersey boys, huh?" The officer looked the five of them over before jerking his chin towards a table near the entry way. "Go on." As they walked away, the blonde one—they later came to know him as Bob—sighed and muttered "I'm from Chicago" under his breath. The My Chemical Romance WW2 AU no one asked for, but someone had to expect. Inspired by "The Ghost of You" video.


**If I Fall**

 **February 1942**

"Hell no, Mikey." Gerard shook his head. "You're not pissing your life away."

"But you're going." Mikey insisted, arms across his chest as he leaned against the doorway.

"I was drafted, that's different." Gerard turned to look at his brother. "Plus, you need to stay here and take care of mom and Lindsey. You'll do that, won't you?"

Mikey turned to look down the hall. Their mother's humming drifted up the stairs as she and Gerard's wife made dinner. He didn't say anything else, just traced a pattern on the wood floor with his toe.

"Promise me you won't enlist. Don't come unless they draft you. You still have two years left."

"The war could be over by then."

"God willing." Gerard turned to look at him. "Plus, they wouldn't give you a gun with your eyes being as bad as they are."

"I've got glasses." Mikey pressed before looking down.

It got quiet again.

Gerard finished packing before looking back at the door. "Mikey."

Mikey kept his gaze on the floor.

"Mikey, look at me."

He did, arms still folded across his chest. Gerard was standing in front of him now. He wrapped his arms around Mikey's shoulders, pulling him close. For a moment, he remained stiff before his shoulders were shaking and he burrowed his face in the side of Gerard's neck.

"How are you not scared?" Mikey rasped, sniffling as he clung to Gerard's back. "You're never scared of anything."

Gerard rocked Mikey in his arms gently, bringing one hand up to stroke his hair. "Because, I'm not scared, Mikes, I'm terrified." He whispered.

Ray kept turning his orders over in his hands as he walked home.

Usually, you got a little more notice then a week before you were supposed to leave, or so he'd heard, but the officer kept on insisting something about it having gotten lost in the mail. They'd delivered it at the clinic where he worked early that morning.

He hadn't even told his mom yet.

"Do you think they'll make you cut all of your hair off?" Jimmy, the paper boy who stood on their street corner every morning, asked, walking alongside Ray.

"I don't know." Ray stuffed the orders into his coat pocket.

"What're you gonna tell your parents?"

"I don't know, Jimmy."

Jimmy kicked a rock along the sidewalk as they walked. He stopped outside his house, standing on the porch before shouting. "Ray!"

Ray turned to look.

"Kill some Nazi's for me!"

Ray smiled for the first time that day. "I'll sure try."

"You sure you're at least seventeen, kid?'

"I already told you, sir." Frank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The last thing he needed was his own rebellious attitude getting in the way. "I'm eighteen. It says so right there on the papers."

The officer looked again before looking back up at Frank.

"I'm just short for my age. You don't have to be tall to shoot, right?"

The officer looked at the papers one more time before shrugging and stamping them. "I guess not."

Frank smiled. "Thank you, sir."

The officer nodded. "Take that to the next station and they'll get you your orders. Next!"

The kid behind Frank had glasses that looked like they were made from soda bottles. Frank looked at the stamp before a different officer looked over his papers and handed him an envelope with orders.

"Train leaves in a week." His voice was gruff, like he barked for a living. "See you then, soldier."

Gerard's mom had made breakfast the morning he was supposed to leave. "Lord knows when you'll have another home-cooked meal." She fussed as she scrambled eggs.

Lindsey sat to his right, holding his hand. She looked like she'd lost a fight. She had dark circles under her eyes, which were puffy and red from crying.

"Mikey, you get your skinny butt down here!" their mother called up the stairs before going back to her skillet full of eggs.

"You promise you'll write me?" Lindsey was making little circles with her thumb on the back of Gerard's hand.

"As often as I can." He picked it up and kissed it before smiling at her. "I'll even do you drawings."

She managed a half-hearted smile before running her fingers along his jaw. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"We all are." His mom plunked a plate of bacon, eggs, and biscuits in front of each of them. "Eat. Michael James Way! Don't make me come up there, young man! Breakfast is on the table!"

"I'm coming, Ma, jeez." He came down the stairs and Gerard stopped, eyes wide.

"What the hell are you wearing?"

Their mom smacked the back of his hand with a wooden spoon. "That hurt!" He shook his hand, looking up at her as she stood with her arms folded, spoon ready to strike again.

"Gerard Arthur Way, you will watch your language at my table!"

Mikey looked down. "Oh, this? Uniform. They said I needed to be in it when I got on the train. What, did I put something on wrong?"

"Mikey, you're not—"

"Will you shut up and eat your breakfast?" His mother cut him off. "Can't we have one meal without fighting?"

Gerard felt that pang he got in his chest when his mother was right, even though he didn't think she was about this. But he still shut up and ate his breakfast. Lindsey mostly pushed around her food, one hand resting on Gerard's knee beneath the table.

When they finished, they brought their plates to the sink and their mother stood, pulling them both into a hug. "My boys…" She ran her hands through their hair. "You take care of each other and come home safe."

Gerard nodded. "We will, Ma." And kissed her cheek.

Lindsey pulled them each into a hug, too. Clinging to Gerard for a long time before he finally whispered that he had a train to catch.

The Way brothers walked out the front door, each of them with a bag slung over their shoulders.

They made it about halfway there before Gerard spoke. "I thought I told you not to enlist."

"Gee, there's no way I was going to let you do this alone." Mikey turned to look at him before smiling. "We'll watch out for each other, like when we played cops and robbers with the neighbors."

Gerard couldn't help but smile before reaching over to pat Mikey's back. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Take this with you." Jamia whispered, pressing something into his hand.

Frank opened his hand to look at the portrait. It was of her, smiling up with her big brown eyes that only appeared gray in the picture.

"It'll keep you safe." She smiled before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her chin there.

He held her back, sliding his class ring off his pinky before pushing her away lightly and sliding it onto her finger. "We'll get married after the war is over."

She blinked up at him tearily before looking at the ring and smiling. "Oh, Frankie…"

"All aboard!"

He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "I love you."

"I know."

He pulled away, holding her hand until they were too far apart. He stepped onto the train, standing at the edge before she shouted. "You better make some friends to come to our wedding!"

He laughed, shouting over his shoulder. "I will!"

Ray had never been on a train before, and he decided immediately that he didn't like it.

The rocking and swaying of the car coupled with the sound of the tracks made him nauseous—some medic he was going to make if riding on a train made him sick.

He sat near the window, watching the land go by.

"You headed to Camp Blanding, too?"

Ray turned. A guy sitting in the aisle across from him smiled up at him warmly. Ray swallowed and nodded.

"You ever been to Florida before?" he asked, getting up and coming to sit next to him.

Ray shook his head. "Never left Jersey before."

"Me either." The guy turned to look out the window with him for a moment before speaking again. "I'm Frank."

He held out his hand to shake and Ray took it.

"Ray Toro."

Frank smiled. "So, you're a medic, right? That's what that patch means?"

Ray looked where Frank had pointed at his uniform before nodding. "I mean, I only really worked in a clinic before. Nothing too major."

"Doesn't really matter. I figure you're probably a good friend to have whether I've got a bullet or pneumonia."

That made Ray laugh. Before long, they both were.

"You got a last name, Frank?"

"Iero."

Ray smiled, reaching over to pat his shoulder. "Now I know which pipsqueak to pull the bullet out of first."

When Gerard got off the train, he had his arm around Mikey's shoulders, even though it was a lot warmer here than it had been back in Jersey. The air was sticky, and sweat already began to cling to the back of Gerard's neck. He pulled away when some of the others started to stare.

They started herding all the new recruits into groups, telling them to wait for their names to be called for bunking assignments. Gerard twisted his wedding ring while he waited. Lindsey was probably making dinner with his mother back home right now. He'd have to write her whenever he got some free time to let her know they'd made it okay.

"B. Bryar, F. Iero, R. Toro, G. Way, and M. Way!" The officer rattling off names called.

Mikey elbowed Gerard. "That's us, c'mon."

"Toro, they put us together!" Frank hissed excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet before the two of them headed towards the officer who called their names.

"Jersey boys, huh?" The officer looked the five of them over before jerking his chin towards a table near the entry way. "Go on."

As they walked away, the blonde one—they later came to know him as Bob—sighed and muttered "I'm from Chicago" under his breath.

The one at the table was a woman. She smiled at them with bright eyes that reminded Ray of his mother.

"Looks like you boys are just down the hall there." She pointed, handing each of them some papers. "Dinner is at 1900 hours, and you'll start training tomorrow morning at 600 hours. Until then, I suggest you get used to it here." Then she waved them off, waiting for the next group to come.

The room wasn't so bad. Three bunk beds and not much else, save for a desk pushed to the corner and a window that the sun shone in too brightly.

There wasn't much debate over who got what bunk; they all just kind of fell into it.

Gerard was sitting up in his after a few moments, sketchbook propped on his knees as he started sketching in decisive, charcoal lines. Bob didn't say much of anything, sitting on his bed, flipping through a book. Ray and Mikey were talking about places they'd been back in Jersey—turns out they'd only lived a few streets apart. Frank was perched on his bed—the one above Gerard's—for a while before he eventually came to hang upside down, sort of like a vampire.

"What are you working on?"

Gerard startled, immediately pulling the sketchbook to his chest like he used to back in high school.

"Sorry." Frank pulled himself back up for a moment before hopping down and sitting on the edge of Gerard's bunk. "Just got a little excited when I saw you drawing."

"It's okay." Gerard sighed, trying to relax, letting his sketchbook fall back to his lap.

Frank scooted up a little, craning his neck to look. "So, what are you working on?"

"Just some doodles." Gerard held it out where Frank could see.

"Just doodles for Gerard might as well be full blown paintings." Mikey came to sit on the other side of the bed. "He just likes to pretend he isn't good."

Gerard blushed, shooting Mikey a glare.

"I like it a lot." Frank smiled, handing it back. "Makes me think of _Detective Comics_."

"Gerard had an internship at DC." Mikey kept chiming in. "I think they were going to start letting him do a few panels in that series soon."

"Really?" Frank asked. "That's so cool! Those have been my favorite since I was a kid!"

Gerard's face flushed, but Bob chimed in before he could say anything else.

" _Was_ a kid? Iero, you still _are_ a kid."

Frank rolled his eyes as Gerard slid his sketchbook shut.

 **May 1942**

"You're going down, Iero." Mikey was perched forward, ready to run.

"Oh, please, Way. Your ass is mine."

"On your mark, get set," Bob stood to the side of the dirt track, holding a grease rag in his hand to serve as their racing flag. "Go!"

Clouds of dirt puffed behind both of their feet as they took off, elbowing each other and laughing.

Gerard smiled before looking back down at the letter in his hands. Lindsey's cursive was neat and loopy—when he'd opened the envelope, he could've sworn a whiff of home had been sealed inside. He took a drag from his cigarette and read over the inked words again.

"Where did Frank and Mikey go?" Ray came to sit by Gerard, tossing his bag on the ground at their feet.

"Racing." Gerard took another drag before stubbing his cigarette out against the bench.

Ray looked up. The boys had rounded the other side of the track. Mikey was in the lead, but just barely. They were still laughing. "We have to leave, in like, ten minutes."

Gerard shrugged and folded the letter back up carefully before sliding it into his pocket. "Their bags are already out here. Why not?"

"They're going to get all sweaty." Ray sighed. "And we'll have to sit next to them on the train all sweaty."

Gerard laughed. "Like that's different from any other day."

"Fuck you, Iero, you cheater!" Mikey flopped back on the grass, panting.

"I didn't cheat! I beat you fair and square!" Frank was flopped down next to him, panting just as hard.

"Punching someone in the kidney as you round the last turn isn't fair and square."

Frank laughed, pulling himself up before offering a hand to Mikey. "It was more of a love tap than anything else."

Mikey rolled his eyes before taking Frank's hand and pulling himself up.

"So, should we go again?" Bob asked, brows raised.

"We don't have time for that." Ray rolled his eyes. "We're supposed to be getting on the train, remember?"

Frank laughed, elbowing Mikey again as the two of them scooped up their bags. "Then let's go. Fort Benning, here we come."

Mikey was sleeping against Gerard's shoulder while the train clacked away and the swampy trees swam past them. Frank, Ray, and Bob were engaged in a near silent game of cards—all three of them staring at their cards like they could speak the future. Gerard doodled absently at the corner of Linsey's letter—filling in the bricks of their house back in Jersey with hatched, blue lines.

"Do you have any twos?"

"Fuck you, Toro." Bob groaned, rolling his eyes and handing the cards over. "You always do that."

"Patience is a virtue." Ray shrugged before turning to look at Frank. "Do you have any sevens?"

"Fuck!" Frank groaned, handing over his set of three cards as well.

Ray smiled before laying out a set of eight matches. "Looks like I'm the winner, again."

Gerard chuckled, watching as Bob scooped up the cards to reshuffle them.

"You sure you don't want us to deal you in, Gee?" Frank asked, thrumming his hands lightly against Ray's boot.

"Go fish isn't really my game." Gerard refolded his letter. "Plus, I don't want to wake Mikey."

"Oh!" Frank began fishing around in his bag. "I almost forgot."

Gerard raised his brows as Frank crossed the aisle to sit next to him, holding out March and April's editions of _Detective Comics_.

"How'd you get those?"

Frank smiled before handing them over. "Jamia sent them."

"Oh, she's an angel." Gerard mused, running his fingertip over the covers. "Have you read them already?"

Frank nodded, rejoining the guys for another round of cards. "And don't worry, I won't tell you about how Joker totally breaks out of prison _again_."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "I could have figured that out. He's on the cover of this one."

Frank chuckled and scooped up his hand of cards to start the next round.

They found their new room after dinner, trudging in tiredly and tossing their bags into their new bunks and getting ready for bed.

"Frank got another tattoo."

Frank elbowed Bob. "Shut up, man."

"How do you even find time for that?" Ray tossed his bag on his bunk before laying back, folding his arms behind his head.

"We don't do anything in the evenings." Frank winked and swung up onto his bunk.

Mikey laughed, setting his glasses on the desk before swinging up into his bed as well. "Perhaps the navy would suit you better, Frank. You have more tattoos than anyone I've ever met."

Gerard unbuttoned his coat, hanging it on his bedpost. "Don't we get to see the new ink?"

Frank poked his head down from his bed. "Hm?"

"Your new tattoo." Gerard smiled up at him, undoing his boots. "What is it of?"

Frank smiled and hopped down before tugging off his shirt and turning around.

Gerard sat his fingers against the jack-o-lantern, reading the slightly reddened scrawl of letters above it.

"Keep the Faith." He read aloud, tracing the letters with his eyes.

"Yeah."

"What's the occasion?" Gerard sat at the edge of the bed, tugging himself out of his pants.

Frank shrugged before pulling himself back up into his bunk. "Your birthday, I guess."

Gerard slid into his covers. "My birthday?"

"It was last month, right?" Frank smiled, sliding into his covers as well. "You could always get one. You seem to like them."

Gerard laughed. "I don't think so, Frankie."

"I think if you don't shut up and go to sleep, I'll shoot you." Bob groaned, turning out the light.

They all laughed, but didn't say anything else.

 **June 1942**

"You should steady your hand a bit." The nurse sat her hand against Ray's wrist, trying to still the shaking. "If you were doing an amputation, you might cut off too much."

Ray looked up from the bandage he was fastening.

She smiled, sliding her hands to replace his to finish for him. "Are you new to this?"

"I worked in a clinic back home." Ray's mouth was dry. It didn't help that he hadn't been sleeping well. "They haven't had me doing much medical practice since I was drafted."

"Not a lot of war wounds at Camp Blanding or Fort Benning?" She patted the soldier on the back gently and he went to get his shirt.

"Not really. It was more physical training than working with guns."

"They should have you in here, more." She wiped her hands on her apron. "I bet I could train you up. You'll have to learn how to take out bullets sooner rather than later."

Ray nodded.

"I'll tell Major Cubbison." She smiled at him, looking into his face for the first time. "I'm Christa."

He smiled back. "Ray."

"Damn, Bryar." Mikey was rocked back on his heels. "You're the best shot out of all of us."

Bob lowered his rifle, rocking back on his heels as well before passing the rifle over to Gerard. "Practice more. You'll get it eventually."

"He's right, Mikes." Gerard leaned into the stock, exhaling steadily before pulling the trigger. His bullet hit close to the center, not quite as on point as Bob's or Frank's, but still closer than Mikey's bullets had made it. "You just have to breathe through it. You're hands lock up right before you shoot."

He lowered the gun, handing it to Mikey. He came around behind him. "Lean into it more, here."

Mikey did as he was told.

"Close your left eye. Your right one is better, anyways." Gerard pulled away. "Breathe. Then shoot."

Mikey let out an exhale, trying to ignore his finger locking up before pulling the trigger. It was a little closer than his last shot, but still far off.

"I suck at this." He lowered the barrel.

"Practice, I'm telling you." Bob patted his back. "We can come back out after dinner and try more. I'll make a sharp shooter out of you yet, Mikey Way."

"Way, I've got letters for you and your bunkmates."

Gerard looked up from his desk where he sat huddled over his sketchbook. "Thanks, McCracken."

He turned the letters over in his hand, smiling at the print.

"Mikey, you have one from Mom. Frank, you've got one from Jamia. Bob, there's one for you from Chicago. And, Ray, I think this is from your father."

They all came over to get their letters and Gerard tugged his open, bringing it close to catch that whiff of home he usually got. He wondered if Mikey or any of the others felt the same when they got letters, but he liked to imagine it was just him. It was a little more special that way.

"Mom got a dog." Mikey smiled, tugging out a picture to show to Gerard. "She named her Lucy."

Gerard smiled. "She's cute. Mom looks good, too."

Mikey smiled, climbing back onto his bed to keep looking over his letter. Bob read over his once before tucking it away.

Frank leaned back on his bed, the letter from Jamia pressed against his mouth. If he closed his eyes, he could see her in color—not black and white like the portrait he kept tucked in his pocket against his chest.

The letter from Ray's father had a few news clippings—probably something Jimmy had asked him to send—mostly little comics from the funny papers on Sundays.

Gerard ran his fingers over Lindsey's looped cursive, smiling.

"Have you taken out many bullets before?"

"A few." Christa smiled, watching as Ray slid the bullet from the soldier's arm easily. "You're doing very well, Ray."

Ray dropped the bullet into the tray before picking up some cotton with his forceps to soak up the excess blood. "Please just keep talking to me. I feel like I'm going to faint."

"Don't say that." The soldier croaked. "You're not the one bleeding."

Christa laughed, watching as Ray gathered more cotton to get the last of the blood. "Like I said, you're doing great."

"Can you thread the suture for me?"

"No problem." She smiled, taking he hooked needle into her gloved fingers before threading it easily. "Here you are."

He took the needle, letting out a steady exhale before he started to sew the wound closed.

"Have you done much sewing in the past?"

"I helped my mother sew shirts. And I've done a few knife wounds before."

"Rough neighborhood?"

He chuckled, tying off the stitching. "You haven't been to Jersey before, have you?"

She shook her head, handing him some fresh gauze to bind the wound. "No, I grew up in Kansas. It's pretty docile there."

Ray secured the binding, patting the soldiers back like he'd seen Christa do in the past. The soldier got up, reaching for his shirt with his good arm.

"And what brought you to Fort Indiantown Gap?"

"A train." She laughed as she carried the tray of bloodied things to the sink to rinse before she sterilized them. "I'd always wanted to be a nurse. And I thought I'd do better here then in the hospital at home."

"And do you think you're doing better here?"

She looked up from the instruments before nodding. "Do you?"

"Absolutely."

The summer air was sweltering. Frank's shirt stuck to the back of his neck as he stopped running to catch his breath. The sun pissed down on him, no clouds to block it out today.

"On your left." Gerard half-shouted—partially to startle Frank and partially to let him know that he was there so he didn't step into his path and land them in the dirt (it only took one time for Gerard to be certain he _never_ wanted to do that again).

Frank stepped to the side a bit, letting Gerard pass before he fell back into a jog. Frank half-ran to catch up to him before slowing to match his pace.

"Captain have you doing runs again?" Frank asked, still panting a little.

"Nah." They turned a corner. "I just like to. Helps me think."

Frank laughed lightly. "How can you think anything other than 'it's so damn hot; I'm going to vomit up my lungs?'"

They were under a stretch of trees now, so it cooled off a little. Gerard half smiled. "I used to think that when I first started. Also, mine isn't a punishment."

Frank rolled his eyes. "I would have rather done pushups. I hate running."

"And the Captain is very aware." Gerard reached over, slapping Frank's shoulder. "If you'd stop swearing at him, this wouldn't happen."

"He swears at us all the time."

"You sound like Mikey." Gerard smiled. "Of course, they usually give him cleaning duty for mouthing off."

"Cleaning duty. Lucky bastard; he gets to mop while I bake alive."

They finished their round through the trees before they both went to lay down in the grass at the edge of the shade. There wasn't dew like there had been this morning, but it was still cooler than in the sun.

"What did you come out here to think about?" Frank asked, picking up a blade of grass and rolling it in his fingers.

"Not sure." Gerard propped his arms behind his head. "Everything really. Not just one specific thing. There are lots of trains in the station today."

Frank rolled the blade of grass between his thumbs again, this time cupping his hands around it before blowing. The blade of grass whistled and Frank smiled around it. "Gee, you're so weird."

"You say that like it's news to you."

Frank laughed, whistling the grass again.

"Okay, teach me." Gerard combed his fingers through the grass before pulling up a blade.

Frank turned to look at him. "You've never made grass whistle before?"

Gerard shook his head. "Not a lot of grass in my neighborhood. Mostly concrete."

"Well, that one won't work. You need a nice thick one."

"Like this one?"

"Yeah." Frank nodded, plucking a blade of his own. "Now, you gotta hold it between your thumbs, like this."

Gerard copied Frank.

"Now blow."

They both did, the high pitch whistle drifting through the air.

"Yeah, there you go."

"I could do this all day."

"I used to, when I was about ten." Frank smiled, tossing his grass away. "Just lay in the front yard with a comic book on my chest and a piece of grass in my thumbs"

"That must've annoyed the shit out of your mom."

Frank laughed as Gerard whistled the grass again. "Oh, you have no idea."

"I'm out of books again." Bob tossed his to the end of his bed. "You blokes got anything to trade?"

There was a chorus of "nope"s and "nada"s before Bob grunted, sitting up, picking up his tattered paper back.

"I'll see if McCracken or Trohman have anything." Then he disappeared down the hall.

Frank thrummed his fingers against his stomach. He missed his guitar. If he were home, he'd probably be practicing right now. That, or helping his mother sweep the porch. Too early in the year for it to be coated with leaves yet, but there were probably spiders by now. The thought made him shudder.

"Does anyone have any smokes?" He asked, tossing a blue ball in the air before catching it, feet hanging off the edge of his bunk.

"Like I'm gonna let you stunt your growth any more than you already have." Bob rolled his eyes as he wandered back into the room, new book in hand.

" _For Whom the Bell Tolls_?" Ray raised his eyebrows. "Wow, Bob. How cultured of you."

"It was all Bert had." He sat back. "I've never read any Hemmingway before. Thought I'd give it a shot."

"Spoiler alert." Gerard looked up from his sketchbook, speaking around the lid of his pen. "Everyone is cynical and an alcoholic."

Bob hummed, nodding half-heartedly before cracking the book open. "So, real life then."

Mikey snorted, leaning back so his head hung off the bunk. He watched upside-down as Frank tossed the ball into the air, bouncing it off the ceiling before catching it absently.

"Iero." Mikey held out his hand and Frank tossed him the ball. Before long, they were just tossing it back and forth between their bunks.

"If you break a window, the captain is going to make you run and clean until neither of you remember your own names." Ray folded his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

"We're not gonna break a window." Frank rolled his eyes as he tossed the ball again. Mikey fumbled and the ball bounced off the corner of Gerard's sketchbook.

"Christ!" He groaned. "Mikey, come on. I'm inking here."

"Frank threw it too hard."

"Will you just go fucking play outside." Bob picked up the ball before tossing it down the hall. Frank jumped off his bed in a run, chasing the ball down the hall. Bob shook his head. "Just like the kids on my street, I swear."

Silence fell between the three of them. Before long, Gerard could see Mikey and Frank tossing the ball around outside. He smiled, despite the stray line now streaking across his page. It was nice that Mikey had someone close to his own age. He was still a kid, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"Overheard the Major the other day." Ray was in the process of taking off his boots. "We're heading somewhere else, soon."

"Oh, yeah?" Gerard looked up from his sketchbook. "Where?"

"Beaminster."

"Where is that?" Bob looked up from his book.

"England." Ray closed his eyes. "So at least it isn't a train this time."

Before anyone could say anything else, the sound of shattering glass filled the room. They all looked over, and sure enough, Frank's ball lay on the floor in a pile of broken glass.

"What the hell, guys!" Ray called, coming to stand at the window. Frank and Mikey pointing at each other.

"Nice going, Iero."

"Oh, what the fuck ever, Way. If you could catch wort a damn—"

Mikey elbowed him to shut him up. "It's the captain."

"Do we run?"

"No." Mikey hissed. "We stand at attention before he buries us alive."

It took all of Gerard's strength not to laugh out loud as the Captain yelled at them.

 **August 1942**

Sea spray was Mikey's new least favorite thing. It stuck to his face and hair, plus everything felt crusty when he finally managed to dry off. It was like being sweaty, but cold. He gripped the railing along the deck as he vomited over the side; acid burning as it shot up his throat.

Ray rubbed between his shoulders in little circles.

"I hate boats." Mikey croaked, coughing and pressing his forehead to the railing.

"Do you want me to get you some water?"

Mikey groaned, shaking his head. "It'll just come back up. I gotta wait a few minutes."

Ray wrapped an arm around Mikey's shoulder, moving him to sit on a bench and lean his head back against the wall. "Are you sure you don't have the stomach flu? Everyone got used to the waves by the second day."

Mikey leaned his head back, taking off his glasses and wiping them against his shirt to get the sea spray off. They'd still be streaky, but he didn't care. "I just don't like the open ocean, man. There's sharks and I could drown."

Ray patted Mikey's knee before getting up. "I'm headed back to the sick bay. They need me there."

Mikey nodded, closing his eyes as he slid his glasses back on. His Adam's apple bobbed like it was caught in his throat. His eyes were watering and his nose was clogged, but he didn't want to open his mouth to let the taste of the ocean invade it. He'd get sick again.

"How're we holding up, Mikes?"

Mikey opened his eyes and Gerard was crouching before him, looking up into his face with concern.

"How many more days until we're at Beaminster?"

"We have to catch a train once we hit the port. Which'll be another three days as long as we don't hit any more storms."

Mikey tipped his head back, groaning and closing his eyes.

"Hey, look at me, Mikey."

Mikey did, his head swimming as the boat lurched.

"We'll be okay. We're over half way there, now." Gerard smiled. "Then we'll be on solid land."

"Until they ship us somewhere else." Mikey cinched his eyes shut again before pulling himself up. "I'm gonna go lay down."

"Make sure you take a bucket with you."

"Har-de-har." Mikey rolled his eyes and staggered below deck to his bunk where the sea spray couldn't touch him.

Frank woke up right before he hit the ground with a thud. He groaned. His mouth tasted metallic and hot. He brought his hand up to his face, and even in the dim light of their below-deck bunk, he could see the dark-wet against his palm.

"Fuck." He sat up, pinching his hand up over his nose. He just hoped he hadn't broken it. His head pounded and he pinched harder. He'd been having a nightmare before the bed had thrown him—he couldn't really remember it, only that there were lots of spiders. "Fuck."

"Frankie?" Gerard sat up groggily, rubbing his hands over his face. "Why are you on the ground?"

"Boat rocked and I fell out of my bunk."

"Are you okay?"

"My nose is bleeding."

Gerard fumbled in his bag for a moment before he pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on. "Shit, Frankie, doesn't that hurt?" He slid off his bunk, grabbing a rag that hung near his bed and pressed it into Frank's hands.

Frank nodded, holding the cloth to his nose to try to get the bleeding to stop. "No, it feels wonderful."

Gerard didn't look amused. "Do you wanna go to the sick bay? I can get Ray, or—"

"It's just a bloody nose." Frank pulled himself up carefully. "I'm pretty sure it isn't broken."

Gerard sat next to him, rolling the flashlight in his palms.

"Bob is gonna kill you if you don't turn that out."

"Bob sleeps like the dead."

They sat in silence for a while longer. Frank closed his eyes, trying to cease the throbbing in his skull from the fall.

"Here." Gerard took the cloth, tipping Frank's chin up with two of his fingers. "I think it stopped, let me see."

Frank lifted his head obediently, watching as Gerard studied his face, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. Frank would never admit he found the expression endearing.

"It doesn't look broken." Gerard wiped around Frank's nose and mouth delicately with the only clean corner of the rag. "Maybe have Ray look at it in the morning just in case?"

Frank nodded. "Thanks, Gee."

"No problem."

He tossed the bloodied rag in the corner of the room. He'd get it in the morning.

When the boat docked, Gerard thought Mikey might actually kiss the dirt.

He was one of the first ones off the boat, falling to his knees and running his fingers across the ground before laughing to himself.

"Wow, Mikey really hates the water, doesn't he?" Bob mused as the four of them walked down the ramp onto the dock.

"It's always freaked him out." Gerard stepped off the ramp, immediately heading towards his groveling brother. Mikey was on his back now, still laughing as he ran his fingers over the ground and looked up at the sky.

"Come on, Mikes." Gerard held out his hand. "You can do more of that once we get to the base."

Mikey was still laughing, taking Gerard's hand and standing. While Gerard tried to brush off what was on Mikey's coat, Mikey just flipped off the boat with both hands before screaming. "Ha! Fuck you! Stupid boat!"

Frank and Ray were trying not to laugh as Gerard rolled his eyes. "Okay, that's enough."

Mikey just kept laughing as he scooped up his bag, throwing an arm around Gerard's shoulder.

"Well, he already looks better, I'll give him that." Ray brought up the rear of their group. "Much less like a zombie than he has for the past week."

Frank nodded.

"Can't speak for you really." Ray looked back at Frank, referring to the deep rings of purple under his eyes from his injured nose. "You're lucky you didn't break it."

"It doesn't hurt so much now, as long as I don't touch it." Frank brushed the bridge of his nose and winced.

"Then don't touch it." Ray rolled his eyes.

"How long do you think they'll keep us here?" Bob asked, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

"Two months, maybe." Ray shrugged.

"I'm sick of this shipping from place to place." Bob sighed.

No one else made a comment. As much as they hated constant travel, this was better than being shot at or worse.

'This is fine.' Gerard thought, Mikey's arm still looped around his shoulders. 'For now, this is fine.'

Mikey was rocked forward on his feet, the stock of the riffle pressing into his shoulder. He stared down the barrel of the gun, left eye closed.

"There you go." Bob's voice was almost at a whisper. "Breathe first."

Mikey exhaled slowly before pulling the trigger. The shot rang out he opened his eyes. It wasn't a perfect bullseye, but it was in the inner circle.

Mikey blinked at the hole in disbelief.

"That's what I'm talking about, Way!" Bob playfully slapped his shoulder. "Now do it again."

Mikey leaned back into the stock of the rifle, trying not to smile to himself. This time, Bob didn't have to tell him to breathe. He let out a steady exhale before a second shot rang out. This one was closer, still slightly off center, but easily the best shot Mikey had ever made.

"Fuck yeah, dude!" Mikey held up his hand for a high five, but Bob only rustled his fist into Mikey's hair, causing the younger to let out a nervous laugh.

"You get a high-five when you make a bullseye, and not before." He rocked back on his heels. "Do it again."

"Do you ever miss it?"

Gerard looked up at Ray from his sketchbook, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. "Miss what?"

"Home."

Gerard shrugged, digging in his little bag for an inking pen. "Of course, I do. I miss Jersey. I miss my wife and my mom and my-almost-job. Everything."

Ray fiddled with his shoelaces. "Is it bad if I don't?"

"Don't what?"

"Miss home."

Gerard looked up, paying attention this time. "You don't miss home?"

"I mean, sometimes." Ray leaned back in his bunk, folding his arms behind his head. "But it feels like I'm doing more, here. The most I ever did at home was put in arm in a sling and then give the kid a sucker."

"What about your parents?"

"Just because we lived together doesn't mean we talked a lot." He closed his eyes. "I mean, they're my parents and I care, but its…I don't know, it's weird. I have you guys, so it's different."

"If you don't miss home, you don't miss home. I don't think that makes you a bad guy or anything."

Frank came bouncing into the room, spinning an envelope to Ray before flipping up into his bunk. "Someone sent you a letter, Toro!"

"What?" the letter skidded onto his stomach and he caught it. "How could someone send me a letter already? We got here, like, two days ago. I haven't written home for them to even know where—"

He stopped, looking at who the letter was from before a smile ghosted over his mouth.

"So," Frank was hanging off his bunk upside down—they'd all gotten used to it by now. "Who's Christa?"

Gerard was looking up from his sketchbook now, intrigued.

Ray tore the envelope open carefully. "She's a friend."

"A friend who's never written before now?" Frank kicked his feet in the air. "It's from Indiantown Gap. Did you shack up with a girl or something while we were there?"

"What?" Ray was blushing now. "No!"

"Isn't Christa that nurse that helped train you at the last base?" Gerard asked, innocently unlike Frank's prodding questions.

Ray nodded, sliding the letter out and smiling a little. "Yeah, she is."

"Ooh!" Frank flipped over onto his stomach, propping his head on his fists like a teenage girl. "Is she cute?"

"Is who cute?" Mikey asked, Bob trailing in behind him.

"Toro's got a girlfriend!" Frank half-sang, kicking his legs behind him and giving Ray that shit-eating grin they were all too familiar with.

"Shut up! She's not my girlfriend." Ray was blushing furiously now, still turning the page in his hand without opening it.

"What did she write to you, then?" Frank asked, brows raised.

"Oh, come on, Iero, leave him alone." Bob rolled his eyes before lowering himself onto his bunk. "No one asks you what your little girlfriend writes you."

"Oh, she dots her i's with little hearts." Mikey leaned against the doorframe, "it's adorable."

Ray wanted to remind them that Christa wasn't his girlfriend, but he was also thankful for the subject change, so he just kept quiet.

"How do you know that?" Frank asked, feet stilling.

"Um, I've brought you the envelopes before. She does it on the outside, too." Mikey rolled his eyes. "I might need glasses, but I'm not so blind that I can't see the little heart floating above 'Jamia'."

Frank resumed swinging his feet. "Yeah…it is pretty adorable…" he mused, but looked like someone had found out a secret he hadn't wanted to share.

"Speaking of pretty adorable," Bob cracked open his book. "Mikeyway made a bullseye today."

"Seriously?" Gerard raised his brows before smiling. "Mikes, that's awesome!"

Mikey looked at his boots. "It's no big deal, really."

"Of course, it's a big deal." Gerard got up, clapping a hand against Mikey's shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

"This," Frank swung off his bunk. "Is a cause for celebration."

"Oh yeah?" Mikey raised his eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

"Bar a few blocks from here." Frank wrapped his arm around Mikey's shoulder. "You, sharpshooter, deserve a drink."

"Frank, you're not getting my baby brother drunk."

Frank rolled his eyes, and Mikey's face flushed at the words "baby brother."

"Oh, loosen up, Gee. We could all blow off a little steam."

Gerard looked around the room for help, but Bob and Ray didn't comment. They were too busy with their book and a letter respectively.

"The drinking age in Europe is lower." Frank shrugged. "We technically wouldn't be getting in any legal trouble."

"But what about Captain trouble." Gerard folded his arms over his chest. "You two have been on his shit list for months now, and we just got settled in a new place."

"Oh, c'mon, Gee." Frank was making puppy eyes. "Just one drink."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "When have you ever just had one drink?"

"I'll keep an eye on him." Mikey offered a shy, but pleading half smile. "Please?"

Gerard chewed his lower lip in thought.

"Fine, you two go." Gerard sat back on his bed. "But we have drills before dawn tomorrow, and if you two aren't there, the Captain will probably shoot you."

"To Mikeyway the sharpshooter!"

Mikey rolled his eyes as Frank clinked their glasses together.

"It's a shame the other guys didn't come with." Mikey said after taking a sip of his drink, trying not to cringe at the weird burn it left on his tongue.

Frank finished half of his glass in a long swallow before he turned to look at Mikey. "We'll get them out some other time. Maybe in a weekend or so."

Mikey rolled his glass slowly in his hands, watching the way the ice swirled against the amber liquid. They fell into a comfortable silence, like they often did when they weren't horsing around. Frank downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender for another.

"What happened to just one drink?" Mikey raised his brows.

Frank chuckled, turning the new glass in his palms. "What your brother doesn't know won't kill him."

Mikey shrugged and took another burning sip of his own. He decided if he ever came back here, he would get a different drink. This one was awful. Frank sipped his slower this time.

"For a minute, I thought you'd read my letters." Frank mumbled, finger against the rim of his glass. "And that's how you knew she dotted her i's with hearts."

"Why would I read your letters?"

Frank shrugged. "Dunno, but I was ready to punch you for it."

Mikey took another drink. It wasn't as bad this time. "Letters from Jamia that precious?"

"How would you feel if I read all the letters you got from your mom?"

"Mortified."

"There you go, then." Frank took another swallow, his drink down to half again.

They fell back into silence like they fell into step during drills. Frank bounced his leg under the bar, then tapped his fingers on the rim of his glass. Mikey knew Frank never sat still for long, but the alcohol seemed like it was making him even more antsy than usual.

"Why did you enlist?" Mikey broke the silence.

Frank looked at him for a moment, downed the last of his drink then turned to look at him again. "My dad fought in the last war."

"Yeah?"

"He wanted to fight in this one, too." The bartender brought Frank another drink. "But my step-mom talked him out of it. Says he's getting to old for it."

Mikey nodded. "So, you enlisted for him?"

Frank shrugged. "Dad was my age when he enlisted. It seemed like the right thing to do."

Mikey finished his drink, but shook his head when the bartender made eye contact, silently asking if he'd like another.

"Why did you enlist?" Frank turned to look at him, running his finger along the lip of his glass.

"I didn't want Gee to come over here alone." Mikey traced the wet surface of the bar. "Even though he told me not to come at all."

"He was drafted, right?"

Mikey nodded. "Just like Toro and Bryar."

"It makes sense that you'd come with him." Frank smiled. "I know that I would if I had a big brother like Gerard."

"What's your big brother like?"

Frank took a drink. "Don't have one."

Mikey watched Frank's face. His brows were knitting together like he was thinking really hard about something.

"What made you ask?"

"Dunno. You just seem like you miss your girl a lot. I was curious."

"I do miss her." Frank ran his hand over his face. "I'm going to marry her when the war is over."

"Yeah?" Mikey raised his brows. Frank didn't talk about Jamia much. He kept her to himself, like a secret.

Frank nodded. "She said I better make some friends to come to our wedding."

"What, you two don't have friends back home?"

"She does. Most people think I'm just a scrawny, hyper fuck."

"Well, you are." Mikey punched Frank's arm lightly. "But I don't mind."

Frank laughed, finishing his third drink. "You're such a good friend, Mikey."

"Hey, now, I didn't say we were friends."

Frank looked at him, eyes going wide before they both burst out laughing.

"Be my best man at my wedding." Frank draped his arm around Mikey's shoulder. "Please?"

Mikey smiled his crooked smile. "Sure, anything you want, Frankie."

"Oh, god, please don't puke on me."

Frank rolled his eyes, arm draped around Mikey's shoulder as he concentrated on not tripping over his own two feet. "I won't!" He responded in a near yell.

"Shh! You're going to wake up our entire division with your drunkenness and then the Captain will kill us for sure."

"I'm not drunk, I only had, like, five." Frank mumbled, leaning heavily against Mikey.

When they made it to their door, Mikey pushed it open to find the other three guys already asleep.

"Do you think you can get into your bunk?" Mikey whispered, walking Frank across the room.

"Probably not." Frank stated bluntly before bursting into a fit of giggles.

"Frank, it isn't funny."

"Mmm…" Gerard turned over before opening his eyes sleepily. "Mikey, is that you?"

"Oh, shit, he woke up." Frank clapped his hand over his mouth before he started giggling again.

Mikey sighed. "Yeah, it's me."

Gerard turned back over, hugging his pillow. "What's wrong with Frank?"

"He's drunk."

"I'm not drunk." Frank insisted again around his giggles. "I only had, like five."

"What happened to having just one?" Gerard asked, sitting up, his hair knotted around his head in all different directions.

"I've already tried talking to him about it." Mikey rolled his eyes. "He just keeps laughing."

"Because it's _funny_." Frank giggled again before clapping his hand over his mouth like a little kid.

"Can you trade bunks with him tonight? I don't trust him not to fall out of his. Plus, I'm not sure he can even get up there right now."

Gerard yawned, rubbing his face. "Sure, but he's cleaning it up if he pukes in my bed."

Before Gerard could get up, Frank had already climbed into his bunk, tangling his arms around Gerard's waist like an octopus.

"Um, Frank." Gerard attempted to loosen Frank's grip, but he clearly wasn't letting go anytime soon. "Mikey, a little help?"

"Nah, man." Mikey crossed over to his bunk for a towel. "Tag, you're it. I'm taking a shower."

"But—"

"Just make sure he goes to sleep on his side so he doesn't choke on his own vomit." Mikey wrinkled his nose. "I know that's gross, but he told me that before he got this bad."

Then he was gone.

Gerard sighed, head drooping forward a moment before he looked back at Frank. "Come on, Frankie." He tried to loosen Frank's arms from his waist. "Let's roll over to our other side."

"But you're warm." Frank whined. "And if I let go you'll leave."

Gerard sighed. "Here, let's at least take your boots and coat off."

Frank let go reluctantly. "Fine, but if you leave, I'll be really mad, so don't."

"I won't leave." Gerard said softly, getting up and walking around his bunk to take off Frank's boots.

"Promise?" Frank asked, holding his foot out so Gerard could untie his boots.

Gerard looked up before smiling the best he could. "I promise, Frankie."

Frank smiled back and let Gerard take off his boots and coat. A little gold cross was hanging out of Frank's t-shirt. Gerard had seen it a few times, but it was one of the few things Frank kept close to his chest and didn't really talk about.

"Mikey said he'd be my best man at my wedding."

"Did he?" Gerard hung Frank's coat over the back of the chair and sat his boots on the floor. "That was nice of him."

"Yeah." Frank started to shimmy out of his pants. "but you have to be there, too, man."

"Of course." Gerard picked up the waste bin at the corner of the room and dragged it over to sit at the side of the bunk, just in case. "Now why don't we lay down and try to get some sleep?"

Frank nodded tiredly. "Okay, but don't leave. You promised."

"I did." Gerard sighed as he helped Frank to lay on his side, pulling the blanket on his bed up around him. He sat on his knees, patting Frank's head lightly. Frank only blinked at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to go to sleep."

"But I'm cold. And you're warm. You said you wouldn't leave."

"I'm right here."

"Oh my god." Ray grumbled, pulling his pillow over his head. "Just get in the bed with him so he'll shut up."

Gerard looked over at Ray a moment before he turned back over.

"Shit, we woke up Toro." Then Frank giggled.

Gerard sighed, coming around the bed before sliding in behind Frank. At first, he tried not to touch him at all, but he couldn't do that without nearly falling off the narrow mattress. Eventually, Frank reached around him and pulled Gerard close before sighing in relief. "There we go."

Gerard felt his face flush. "Frank—"

"Shhh…you'll wake Toro back up."

Gerard sighed, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Just go to sleep."

Frank nodded before whispering. "Goodnight, Gee."

Frank was quiet for a while after that, running his fingers up and down the back of Gerard's arm.

"Night, Frankie."

It wasn't long before they both fell asleep curled up in the bunk like spoons.

Frank looked like death warmed over the next morning. He didn't speak and kept his hand over his face in between drills.

They all thought he might puke during the run, but he'd just make a loud gulping sound that made them all cringe.

Gerard had been there before. He used to drink a lot more before he'd married Lindsey. He still did every now and then, but never enough to achieve Frank's current level of hangover.

When they broke for lunch in the mess hall, Frank stalked off to their room.

"Okay, but if you really think about it, Houdini probably faked his death." Mikey said around a mouthful of potatoes. "Wouldn't you if you were as good at escaping as he was?"

Ray rolled his eyes. "Mikey, the guy died of peritonitis. He didn't fake his death."

"But he could have!" Mikey pointed his fork to make his point. "He's probably lying in the sun drinking a mimosa on a tropical island somewhere."

"He would be almost seventy now." Ray stabbed at his potatoes with his fork. "If he were still alive—which he isn't—I doubt he'd be daring skin cancer and liver damage to challenge him."

"He could escape _anything_ though." Mikey gushed. "He was buried alive once!"

"Your obsession with Harry Houdini concerns me." Bob said, finishing his glass of milk.

Mikey huffed, rolling his eyes. "I'm not _obsessed_. I'm just fascinated."

Gerard chuckled to himself, remembering all the other times Mikey would sneak into his room after midnight when they were younger to discuss some crazy theory he'd come up with. He hadn't done it much in recent years, but it was good to know that Mikey was still Mikey.

"Gee thinks he could still be alive." Mikey turned to look at Gerard with hopeful eyes. "Don't you?"

Ray and Bob followed Mikey's suit, sans the hopeful expression.

Gerard shrugged before letting his fork clatter back against his tray. "I mean, I never saw Harry Houdini's body; who am I to say he's dead or alive?"

"See!" Mikey beamed, inhaling another forkful of potatoes.

"That wasn't agreeing." Ray rolled his eyes. "But fine. I suppose Harry Houdini could possibly be drinking mimosas on a beach. Except he isn't because his appendix exploded and he died when you were three."

Bob shook his head, exhaling hard through his nose in what was meant to be a laugh before getting up to deposit his tray and grumbling something about "finding Iero's ass to make sure he isn't dead".

Mikey kept chattering about Houdini for a few more minutes, talking about his suspended straightjacket escape between bites of potato before setting his fork against his tray.

"Man, I miss mom's cooking." He sighed.

"Ditto." Gerard nodded.

"She made the best roast."

"Oh, the best." Gerard felt his mouth water at the thought, even though he'd just finished eating.

"Talking about it isn't going to help." Ray got up. "Plus, my mom's vegetable soup could probably kick your mom's roast's ass."

"Oh please." It was Mikey's turn to roll his eyes as he and Gerard gathered up their trays. "Everyone knows that roast beats soup any day."

"Especially if there are rolls." Gerard smiled. "And corn."

 **September 1942**

Mikey sat on Toro's bunk, reading a letter from his mom. It was mostly a report on Lucy, but she also went on about the cute neighbor girl from down the street, Alicia. Their mom had been trying to get Mikey and her together since they were in grade school. The last line read "Happy 20th Birthday, Michael. I love you. Mom."

The rest of the guys were out, probably drinking, but Mikey hadn't wanted to go. He'd just been excited for the letter from his mom.

He curled his fingers around the little silver chain that had been tucked into the letter before fastening it around his neck and sliding it beneath the collar of his shirt. He recognized it—it had been his father's. He didn't know why his mother had held onto it, but he was grateful for a piece of home.

The door swung open and Mikey looked up.

Gerard stood in the doorway, coat already unbuttoned, loosening his tie. He looked up before smiling. "Hey, Mikes."

"Hey, Gee." Mikey folded up the letter, tucking it into the leather pouch where he kept the rest of them. "I thought you went out with the guys."

Gerard shrugged, coming to sit next to Mikey. "I had something more important to do."

"Like what?"

Gerard reached into his coat pocket, producing a small bundle. "Did you really think I'd forget your birthday?"

"I almost forgot yours."

"But you didn't." Gerard handed the bundle over. "It doesn't matter if there wasn't a gift. I have you with me."

"But you got me something."

"Will you just open it?" Gerard laughed, lightly elbowing him. "Please?"

They were both laughing as Mikey unwound it with his nimble fingers. He stopped, picking up the wooden figurine delicately. It was a horse. The wood was stained a deep chestnut and little details were carved in to shape the mane, tail, eyes, nostrils, and hooves. Mikey traced the curve of the horse's back with the tip of his finger. "Gee…"

Gerard reached over to pat Mikey's shoulder. "It's like the one you used to want when we were kids."

Mikey nodded. "But this one is better." He smiled before turning to look at Gerard. "Thank you."

"Of course, baby brother." Gerard ran his fingers through Mikey's hair. "Of course."

"I heard the captain talking about us shipping out for some combat." Bob said one evening as he turned a page in his book.

Ray looked up from polishing his boots. "Oh, yeah?"

Bob nodded, still reading. "Sometime next month."

"Did he say where?"

Bob grunted and shook his head.

They were quiet for a while, save for Mikey's soft snoring from his bunk. Frank and Gerard were off somewhere, probably on the hunt for comic books.

"You think you'll be ready to patch me up if I need it, Toro?"

Ray nodded, returning to his boots. "But you won't need it. You're a good shot."

"Being a good shot doesn't mean shit." Bob sighed, closing his book. "We both know I'm not lucky."

They were quiet again for a while. Ray finished shining his boots and sat them down at his bedside.

"Are you scared, Bryar?" Ray looked up as Bob curled his arms around a pillow.

"No." Bob closed his eyes before reaching over to turn out his lamp. "I just know I'm not lucky."

 **October 1942**

"The leaves don't change colors here like they do at home." Gerard's eyes traced the tree line as he ran, arms pumping at his sides.

Frank looked up at the leaves, his breath coming out in little white puffs. The air had gotten a lot colder in the last month. They wore jackets when they ran now instead of t-shirts. "They look the same to me."

"There's more colors at home." Gerard huffed under his breath. "They just turn yellow here and then fall off. At home, they turn red and orange…sometimes purple."

Frank laughed. "Gee, you see more than anyone I've ever met."

"I don't see more."

"Fine, you _pay attention_ more."

"You _don't_?" Gerard looked at Frank as they slowed to a jog.

"I don't really see the point. They're just leaves."

"But they're _beautiful_."

Frank laughed again, shaking his head. "This is because you're an artist, isn't it?"

"Maybe." Gerard shrugged. They continued to jog for a while until they neared the end of the track, slowing to a walk.

"How's the new tattoo holding up?"

Frank smiled, running his hands across his bicep where the anchor brandishing N and J on either side of it hid beneath his jacket. "It's healing up pretty nicely."

"No getting shit about it?"

"The captain hasn't seen it, yet." He slid his hands behind his head as he walked. "Besides, it makes me think of home. Who could get mad at me for that?"

Gerard nodded. Frank had wanted Gerard to come with him to get his newest tattoo, but Gerard had politely declined.

"You're developing quite the collection."

"That's the idea." Frank grinned his tiny grin. "I don't know what I want to get for my birthday yet."

"It's at the end of next month, right?"

"Yeah. I figured I'd pick out something else to ink in for it."

"If we aren't shipped out somewhere first."

"Do you think it's ever going to happen?" Frank asked genuinely.

Gerard shrugged. "Bob said he heard something about it."

They stopped walking at the same time. Frank's hands were still folded behind his head. He turned to look at Gerard, who had his hands tucked into his pockets, bringing his shoulders up in a futile attempt to shield his ears from the wind.

"Is something wrong, Gee?"

Gerard was shivering, but he shook his head to say no.

"Do you want to head back in? Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee in the mess hall, or something?"

Gerard nodded and they walked inside together. They sat at the metal table, each of them sipping from the steaming mug.

"Do you think you'd draw my next piece for me?"

Pink had flooded Gerard's cheeks from the fresh warmth. He cut his eyes at Frank over the top of his mug. "You want me to?"

Frank nodded excitedly. "Yeah, dude, you're the best artist I know."

"Is there something in particular you'd want?"

"I think I want to get the Virgin Mary somewhere."

Gerard thought back to the little gold cross Frank kept tucked into his shirt. "I didn't know you were religious."

"Not really." Frank took a sip of his coffee.

"Then why her?"

Frank shrugged before smiling. "My mom really likes her. Something else from home, I guess."

Gerard thought about it for a little while before nodding. "Okay, I'll see if I can draw you something."

"Really?" Frank perked up, sort of like a puppy might.

"Sure. You want to get it before we ship out, right?" Gerard raised his brows. "Plus, it'll give me something to do in the meantime."

Two days after Frank got Gerard's sketch of the Virgin Mary inked into his arm, they received orders for shipping out on October twenty second—five days from then.

Everyone seemed antsy, particularly Mikey when he found out they'd be getting on another boat to head to their destination.

They'd spent the next few days running hard drills, too tired to speak once they'd made it back to their rooms.

One evening, they were all in their bunks, keeping to themselves. Bob's nose in a book, Gerard sketching absently, Ray shining his boots, Mikey turning his horse figure over in his hands. Frank hung his legs down over the edge of his bunk, tossing his ball up in the air and catching it. He missed his guitar, but he wasn't sure if even it would be able to fill up all the tense quiet between them.

"That's it." He hopped down. "We're going out."

No one moved. Ray was the first to look up. "What was that, Frank?"

"For fuck's sake, all we do is sit in here sulking." Frank threw his hands up in frustration. "We get on a boat headed towards God knows what the day after tomorrow, but before that, we all need to go and get a drink."

"A drink?" Gerard raised his brows. "I don't—"

"Let's just go and have some fun." Frank cut him off. "Please guys?"

They all stared at each other for a few minutes. Bob finally broke the silence with a "what the hell" and snapped his book closed.

"Really?" Frank perked up. "You'll go, Bryar?"

"Why not?" Bob stood up and put on his boots. "Blowing off a little steam will be good for us."

The other guys offered half-hearted groans before Bob whirled around to look at them. "All of us."

Ray sat his boots down and Mikey tucked his horse figurine into his pocket. Gerard looked at his sketchbook wistfully before sighing and closing it. "Fine."

Frank whooped in excitement and they all got up to get dressed properly.

The walk to the bar wasn't bad. The streets were quiet; it was only a Tuesday after all. The bar, however, was another story entirely.

The smoky room was bathed in amber light; laughter bouncing around the crowded room in between the music spilling from the jukebox.

Frank led the way, for the most part, dragging Gerard and Ray to the bar by the sleeves of their coats. Mikey and Bob followed.

"I just don't get why you'd get _beer_ of all things." Ray rolled his eyes, poking hard against Bob's arm. "Of all things, Bryar."

"Fuck off, Toro. You got _scotch_ of all things."

Mikey chuckled around his gin and tonic while Frank knocked back another shot of Jack Daniels before promptly disappearing into the crowd of the bar.

Gerard nursed his glass of wine, turning it in his hands. He sipped it infrequently, humming softly along to the juke box.

Bob and Ray continued discussing the sanctity of having the right drink. The Way brothers were quiet.

Mikey stood next to Gerard, leaning against the bar. Gerard swung his legs beneath his stool.

"What do you think will happen?" Mikey slid onto the stool next to Gerard.

Gerard took a sip of his drink before turning to look at his brother. "What are you talking about?"

Mikey turned to look at his brother, rolling his eyes. "You know what I'm talking about."

Gerard tapped his foot against Mikey's beneath the stool before he stood, wrapping his arm around Mikey's shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Mikes." He smiled, shaking Mikey's shoulder lightly. "I've got your back."

Mikey sighed before finishing his drink. "You always do."

"Of course, I do, Baby Brother." Gerard elbowed him lightly and took another sip of his drink.

"Finish your beer, Bryar!" Frank hopped onto Bob's back, clinging like a small child. "We're playing poker!"

Bob rolled his eyes. "We're not playing poker, small-fry. We don't have money to lose."

"Then can I get another!" Frank waved at the bartender who only rolled his eyes and slid Frank a shot.

Frank turned it in his hands before shooting it back. Ray had moved onto his second drink as well.

"Mikey! Mikeyway! Mikey!" Frank came up, taking either of Mikey's cheeks in his hands before patting one playfully. "My beautiful friend. Let's get you a shot!"

"I don't really—"

"Please?" Frank looked at him with big eyes, like a puppy.

Mikey sighed. "Fine. One shot."

"What about you, Gee?"

Gerard shrugged. "I could stand to humor you. Just don't overdo it."

"Psshh!" Frank playfully pushed Gerard's shoulder and signaled for three shots from the bartender.

"Make it four!" Bob called.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Shit, five."

Frank turned to look up at him and Ray huffed out. "If you're all doing shots, you bet your ass I'm doing one with you all."

Frank kept one arm draped around Gerard's shoulder as the bartender slid each of them a shot and they all picked up their glasses.

"What do we toast to?"

Frank rolled his eyes and clinked their glasses together. "To the Jersey Boys!"

"But I'm from Chicago." Bob rolled his eyes.

Ray rolled his eyes, clinking his glass to Mikey's "To the Jersey Boys and that one guy from Chicago!"

Bob and Gerard clinked their glasses together and they all tossed their shots back.

Ray whistled and Gerard tried not to cough.

"I'll never understand how in the hell you drink that shit, Iero." Mikey groaned, sliding his glass back onto the bar.

"Fuck you; Jack Daniels is the best."

"Tastes like dishwater." Bob set his glass down. "And that's your go to?"

"Your go to is _beer._ " Ray rolled his eyes.

"And yours is _scotch_."

Gerard chuckled and took another sip of his wine glass. He turned to look over at Frank only to find that he'd disappeared somewhere into the bar yet again. Mikey must've gone with him, because he was gone, too. He'd probably gone to make sure Frank didn't fall into a toilet or something of that nature.

"I'm telling you, there's no better place for pizza than New Jersey."

Bob rolled his eyes. "You haven't lived until you've had Chicago pizza."

"Gonna have to side with Ray on this one," Gerard chimed in, sipping from his glass. "Jersey pizza is the best."

Bob scoffed and took a sip from his drink.

After a while, Mikey came back, sitting back down next to Gerard.

"Where's Frank?" Gerard asked, swirling his half empty glass.

"Talking to some guy he met in the bathroom." Mikey took a glass of water from the bartender. "About dogs or some shit, I don't know."

"You okay?" Gerard raised his brows, leaning against the bar closer to Mikey.

Mikey turned to look at him before shrugging. "Yeah, just a headache is all."

"Hey." Gerard sat his hand against Mikey's back. "Stop worrying, okay? We're going to be alright."

Mikey looked up at him. His eyes were tired and pink around the edges with stress. He slid off his glasses and polished the end of them with his shirt. "Okay."

"I'm serious." Gerard clapped his back gently. "I've got you."

Mikey smiled at him weakly before nodding. "Thanks, Gee."

Gerard thumbed the edge of his glass, taking another swallow. The song on the jukebox was low and familiar. He hummed along and sat back down, closing his eyes and thinking of home. The song sounded like something his mother might have listened to while she ironed their father's clothes in the morning. He could smell his father's pipe smoke and the city smog if he through about it hard enough. He could hear Lindsey humming along to the music while the two of them sat in the living room as high-school sweethearts, reading from the same book with their fingers threaded together. See Mikey sitting on the living room floor and playing solitaire.

He finished his glass of wine and didn't ask for another.

"Do you think we should head back soon?" Ray asked. Everyone made noises of agreement—except for Frank who was still missing.

"Where's Frank?" Bob asked, looking around.

Mikey shrugged and Gerard got up off his stool before picking up Frank's abandoned coat. "I'll go find him; give me a minute."

He searched the perimeter of the bar before heading towards the back. He found Frank outside, leaned against the wall. He was looking up at the sky.

"Frankie?" Gerard stepped closer and Frank swayed a little. "What are you doing out here?"

Frank turned to look at him before smiling and looking back up. "I've never seen stars…Not real ones…"

Gerard smiled, coming up to drape Frank's coat over his shoulders. "I'm sure you'll be able to see some on the ship."

Frank leaned into Gerard, pressing his face against his shoulder. "I couldn't last time."

"It was cloudy last time." Gerard patted the back of Frank's head. "Let's get back to the base, yeah?"

Frank turned his head, pressing his nose against the side of Gerard's throat. "You're all warm, Gee."

Gerard sighed, remembering how Frank had been the last time he'd encountered him drunk. "You must be sleepy."

Frank pushed against Gerard's chest gently and looked up at him. "No, just looking for stars."

Gerard smiled. "Well you aren't going to find any here."

Frank kept staring into his eyes, fingering Gerard's tie. "No, of course not."

Gerard watched him for a moment. "What are you thinking about now?"

"The way you see everything." Frank sighed dreamily.

Gerard rolled his eyes. "I already told you that's not what it is."

"Well, it's not like you _notice_ everything."

Before Gerard could ask what Frank meant by that, Frank pulled him in by his tie and their mouths pressed together.

Gerard tensed, Frank's mouth bitter and hot against his. Frank pivoted them, pressing Gerard against the wall. Frank made a soft noise before pulling up, looking at Gerard.

"Gee…" Frank pressed his hands against Gerard's cheeks. "Gee…"

"Frankie." Gerard caught Frank's wrists. "You're drunk, okay? Let's get you back."

Frank looked up into Gerard's face before gingerly pulling his hands away. Something in his eyes sobered as he looked down at the ground. "Yeah, okay."

Gerard wrapped his arm around Frank's shoulder as he led him inside. They didn't say anything else for the rest of the night.

 **November 1942**

The boat was crowded. They all stood on deck shoulder to shoulder. Bags covered the ends of their guns.

Mikey stood next to Frank; they hadn't seen Gerard, Ray, or Bob since they'd boarded the boat. Mikey wondered if maybe they had been put on a different one, or if they were just too tightly packed, so they couldn't see them. But then the boat would lurch forward, metal creaking and groaning in the shallow water.

"The captain said this wouldn't be too bad." Frank was doing his best to hold still, even though he was buzzing with energy.

Mikey pinched the bridge of his nose, furrowing his brows. "As long as we get off this boat, I'll shoot anything he wants."

"I think it'll be a little longer." Frank looked over at him. "Their changing directions again."

"I thought we were going east."

Frank nodded. "Yeah, but we keep hitting sandbars."

"Fuck." Mikey groaned. "Where do you think Gee and the others are?"

Frank shrugged one shoulder. "Their boat is probably having issues, too."

Mikey groaned, agreeing, and tried to keep his eyes on the horizon.

"I hope they're okay." Frank fingered the cross he kept tucked beneath his collar.

"They are." Mikey nodded weakly. "Of course they are."

"I'm a medic, and I can't even swim." Ray groaned. "They've got all this gear strapped to me. I'm going to fucking drown."

"Will you relax, Toro?" Bob slapped his shoulder before taking hold of his rifle again. "If, for some reason, the boat even starts to sink, I won't let you drown. I'll save you."

"No one is going to drown; this boat is just really rickety." Gerard sighed. "Mikes is probably freaking out."

They didn't say anything else.

When the boats hit the shore, they ran. Frank's feet sunk deep into the sand, making his legs heavy. The gear wasn't helping.

He and Mikey moved together, crouching behind the same sandbar, shoulder to shoulder.

"What are we…" Mikey panted. "Where are we shooting?"

"It's…quiet…" Frank looked around the beach over the sandbar. Soldiers just clamored around them. "Something isn't right."

That was when the hail of bullets came.

"Mikey, get down!" Frank wrapped his arm around Mikey's shoulder, pulling him down behind the sandbar just as bullets whizzed past them.

A few of the men in their unit went down, but most of them took cover. Frank looked back out and saw that McCracken and Ross had gone down, eyes still open.

"Where is that coming from?!" Mikey crouched into Frank.

"Just over those banks." Frank tightened his grip on his rifle. A few of the men crouched behind the sandbars had a similar idea. He made eye contact with Wentz, a cadet that they'd met on the boat. He nodded at Frank, crouching so he could shoot over the top of the bar.

It didn't take long before they started exchanging fire.

"Beach is secure!" Schechter radioed through.

"That wasn't so bad." Ray panted, setting his hands on his knees.

"Told you!" Bob slapped his shoulder. "You didn't drown or get shot at."

Gerard sat at the edge of the beach, water running up over his boots.

"You think he's still worried about Mikey?"

Ray nodded. "Of course, he is. Mikey is his kid brother."

"Toro!" Schechter called. "They need you up the shore!"

"A-Alright!"

"Chopper's gonna land soon to lift you there!"

Ray nodded.

"Someone must've gotten pretty fucked up if they're taking you over there." Bob folded his arms over his chest. "Be careful, Toro."

"You, too. Watch Gerard's back."

"Course."

Mikey couldn't remember how it happened. The gunfire had finally ceased. They'd been good. They'd been clear. He'd heard Schechter radio in the beach secure.

But something had gone wrong. It had all gone wrong. Because now there was blood on the sand and Frank was _screaming_.

"Iero! Iero, hold on!" Wentz was radioing something in, but everyone's words were watered down. His hand was on Frank's chest. There was blood. There was so much blood.

And Mikey couldn't tell where it was coming from.

Mikey blinked before crawling closer, setting a hand on Frank's chest, too. The blood…where was to coming from?

"Frankie." Mikey's voice felt small. "Frankie, I'm right here."

Frank's grip was strong, but he looked up into Mikey's face.

"I'm right here."

"Medic team is on their way!" Wentz called before getting up to check other wounded soldiers.

When the helicopter landed, the team moved towards them, and everything felt like it was in slow motion. Sand splashed up against their legs. They were pulling him away from Mikey.

"It doesn't seem like it hit anything major." Ray was talking. When did Ray get here? He was wrapping a bandage around Frank's thigh. "Let's lift him over to the base."

"Base?" They pulled Frank away. Mikey's hands shook. "Where's—"

"We'll take care of it, Mikes." Then Ray was gone.

But Mikey couldn't breathe. His lungs were tight and he couldn't breathe.

Mikey fell asleep with his head in Gerard's lap. Bob sat with his arms folded across his chest, his back against a post as he dozed. But Gerard couldn't sleep. Ray had come back an hour or so ago to tell them that Frank was going to be fine. They didn't know what the captain was going to do about it.

Mikey had been shell shocked. Gerard was surprised he'd even fallen asleep. He ran his fingers through Mikey's hair and sighed.

Ray came back into the tent and looked over.

"Gerard, are you still awake?"

Gerard swallowed thickly. "How is he?"

"He's fine." Ray pulled off his coat and sat down. "He hasn't tried to walk on it yet, but we finally got him to sleep."

"Did the captain say—"

"It's going to depend on if he can get his footing. I'd ask if you wanted to go see him, but—"

"I wouldn't want to wake him." Gerard looked down, running his fingers through Mikey's hair again.

"How's Mikes?"

"He still hasn't told me anything. But he's asleep, so I guess that's good."

Ray nodded. "I can look him over tomorrow if you want."

"Thanks."

"And you could go see Frank if you want."

Gerard smiled half-heartedly before he ran his fingers through Mikey's hair again. "I'd like that."

Frank was pale. Very pale. That was the first thing Gerard noticed.

"Hey, Gee…" He rasped, his fingers splaying out against the blanket.

"How you feeling, Frankie?" He sat in the chair next to Frank's cot, sliding his fingers through Frank's.

"Like shit." He laughed and looked up at the roof of the tent. "Ray said I lost a lot of blood. But, I got something cool to show you."

"Yeah?"

"It's on the table." Frank tried to motion with his eyes. "I'm not supposed to move so much right now, so can you grab it?"

"Sure." Gerard let go of Frank's hand before picking up what Frank was talking about. It was a slug, bent and fired. "Is this—"

"Yep." Frank grinned, "Don't worry, it's clean."

Gerard let out a low whistle and turned it in his fingers. "Hell of a souvenir, Frankie."

Frank chuckled and Gerard sat it back down on the table.

"I think it's kinda cool." He looked back up at the roof of the tent.

It was quiet for a while. Gerard folded his hands in his lap.

"I can go if you're tired."

"How's Mikey?" Frank opened his eyes and turned to look at Gerard. "Is he okay?"

"A little shell shocked, but other than that he seems fine."

"So, I guess everything went alright on your end."

Gerard nodded. "It wasn't so bad."

"Luck of the draw I guess."

It got quiet again. Gerard chewed his lower lip. He felt guilty because Frank was hurt, but even guiltier that he was just glad it wasn't Mikey.

"Did they say how long—"

"We won't know for a while." Frank sighed. "I'm pretty sure the captain wants to send me home, though, at least until I'm up and walking again."

"That isn't the worst idea."

Frank exhaled hotly and closed his eyes. "He's been looking for a reason to get rid of me from day one. Lucky for him, I got shot, so he doesn't have to deal with me anymore."

"Don't talk about it like that, Frankie." Gerard wanted to reach for his hand but stopped himself. "We're all glad you're okay."

"Sure." Frank shrugged, but his eyes were still closed.

"Are you getting tired?"

"A little."

"Do you want me to go?"

Frank paused before he nodded his head slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Gerard got up, wiping his hands on his pants. He headed for the tent flap but stopped turning to look at Frank over his shoulder. "Thanks for looking out for Mikey."

Frank half-smiled, opening his eyes sleepily. "I wouldn't change what happened, you know."

Gerard bit his lip before nodding. "I do."

Frank didn't dream while he slept.

 **February 1943**

"Frankie…"

His eyes felt heavy, still. He wanted to sleep.

"Frankie, dearest, come on. You have to get up."

He let out a soft moan and pulled his blanket tighter around him. "I'm comfortable."

"I know that, silly." Fingers slid through his hair. Sunlight came in through the window, staining the insides of his eyelids dark pink. "But you need to get up. Can't have you sleeping all day."

His eyes fluttered and she was smiling at him, dark brown eyes peering down at him as she smoothed her fingers through his hair.

"Good morning, Jamia."

"Morning." She bent down, kissing the corner of his mouth

She laughed softly, grazing his cheek with her fingers before standing up. "Come on. Your mother says breakfast is ready."

He sighed, laying back on the mattress and staring up at her before holding his hands out. She took his hands and helped pull him up. His feet hit the floor. "Ready?"

He nodded and she pulled him to stand. He winced, but his balance didn't waiver.

"Good?"

He nodded and she took a step back.

"Do you think you'll need help with the stairs?"

He shook his head. "I think I have it."

"I'll walk with you." She smiled, but didn't touch him as he made his way out of the room.

His gait was wobbly, but more controlled and steady than it had been in the past few months. He hadn't been able to put weight on it without crutches until last Christmas, but only if Jamia was at his side, offering her shoulder for support. When he'd fallen on the stairs around New Year's had been pretty bad.

He'd only started walking on his own around Groundhog Day, but Jamia was always sure to stay at his side. Just in case.

"Careful on this last one."

He gripped the handrail and moved down carefully.

"There's my boy." His mother smiled, setting plates at the table. "Did you sleep alright?"

He nodded and lowered himself into his chair delicately.

"Still having dreams?"

"No." He lied.

Jamia looked at him, but didn't say anything as she sipped her coffee. She heard Frank's fits while he slept. Heard him scream himself awake and then pant into the night air before he'd lay back against his pillow and cover his face with his hands.

"That's good." His mother smiled before looking at the clock on the wall. "I have to get to work." She kissed his forehead. "I'll see you both for supper."

He smiled up at her. "Bye, Mom."

Jamia waved and the front door closed behind her.

Frank went back to eating his breakfast.

"Why did you lie to her?" She sat down her mug. "About the dreams?"

Frank shook his head. "I didn't."

"Frankie, I sleep next to you. I hear you cry out in your sleep."

He sighed and sat his fork down. He ran his fingers through his hair—it had grown out since he'd been home. She'd offered to cut it, but he always refused,

"I don't want you to worry about me. I'm alright, Jamia. I promise."

She reached over to set her hand atop his. "I'm always going to worry. Do you think I didn't the whole time you were away?"

"That's different. I'm here now. You can see me."

She squeezed his hand, smiling into his eyes.

He wondered what their life should be like right now. They might be engaged, but she probably wouldn't be living with him if it weren't for the war. She'd still live with her parents. Have a job sewing skirts or maybe even working as a secretary in an office somewhere—she was smart enough for a job like that. He'd probably be making car parts or something in a factory. They'd go on dates, to the theater or strolls in the park, like they did when he was sixteen and she was still fifteen.

Was that only three years ago?

She could have a real job if she didn't have to stay at home and take care of him.

He sat his other hand atop hers, feeling his class ring curled around her ring finger.

"I love you, Frankie." She kissed the tip of his nose.

He smiled and brushed her cheek with his thumb before she took their dishes to the sink to wash. "I love you, too, Jamia."

Ray folded the bundle of letters over in his hands. It was from Christa. He hadn't heard from her in a while, so when the bundle showed up on his cot, he couldn't help but smile.

"Those from Christa?" Mikey turned over on his cot to look at Ray. He was cradling a ball to his chest—Frank's ball.

"Yeah." Ray looked over his shoulder at him before sprawling himself out on the adjacent cot.

"Why aren't you opening them?"

Ray shrugged, fingering the twine holding the bundle together.

Mikey chuckled before shaking his head. "What, are you scared?"

Ray shrugged again.

"She wouldn't write if she didn't like you, Ray." Mikey turned onto his back and tossed the ball in the air.

"Oh, like you would know."

Mikey shrugged. "Lindsey writes Gerard."

"Lindsey and Gerard are married."

"Well, Jamia wrote Frank."

"They're engaged. Christa and I aren't even…she just taught me how to patch up bullet wounds."

"Kinky." Bob walked in and sat on his cot. "What do you have, Toro?"

"Letters from Christa." Mikey grinned.

"Oh, leave him alone, you guys." Gerard looked up from his sketchbook, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. "Nobody teases either of you when you get letters from your mother."

Mikey rolled his eyes.

Ray undid the twine around the bundle of letters before he started flipping through them, looking for the one that was written first. The way Christa curled the bottom edge of her Cs up made him smile. Naturally, it threw him off when one of those Cs was actually a scratchy F.

He blinked and slid the letter out of the stack. "We got a letter from Frank."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up.

"Really?" Mikey asked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the cot.

Ray tore the envelope open and slid the letter out. It was a few pages thick. He ran his eyes over the first page before flipping to the next.

"What's it say?"

"It's a little confusing." Ray's brows furrowed as he moved on to a new page. "I think he wrote it in several sittings. Like he'd fall asleep and come back to it later. Probably on pain pills for his leg."

"Is he walking?"

Ray shrugged. "He probably doesn't want to talk about it."

They all remembered what Frank had been like the last time they'd seen him. He was having a lot of trouble with the crutches right before they sent him home. He'd had a particularly bad blow up at Gerard when he'd been trying to help him up; screaming, crying, even going as far to throw one of the crutches at Gerard before he ended up on the floor, rocking himself and screaming at anyone who tried to touch him.

"He seems to be better, I think. At least, mentally." Ray turned back to the first page, "But this is a little over a month old, so who knows how he is now."

"How can you tell?" Gerard resumed doodling in his sketchbook. He'd gotten a letter from Lindsey earlier, but he'd only tucked it away unread. He'd probably wait to read it until after everyone was asleep, or at least pretending. "If you think he was drugged up when he wrote it, how can you tell."

"Because it doesn't feel angry, not how he was, even when he was drugged up, he was always madder than hell those last few days."

"That's just how Frank is." Bob sighed and laid back on his cot, closing his eyes.

"Yeah." Gerard shut his sketchbook and ran his hands over his face. "Just how he is."

He sat in his father's old chair, legs propped on an ottoman while he leafed through the paper. Jamia held a few straight pins between her lips, making adjustments to one of his shirts. Her glasses kept sliding to the end of her nose. She'd huff and push them back up, threading her needle before going back to work.

"You could get a job doing that." He looked at her over the top of his paper.

She rolled her eyes, pulling the pins from her mouth and pressing them back into her pincushion. "Don't start, Frankie."

"I'm just saying that you don't have to be cooped up in this house with me all day." He turned the page. "You could sew patches or make skirts or something."

"I don't even like sewing that much." She pushed her glasses up and kept with her stitch work. "I just thought your mother could use some help with the house work, now that she works more."

He sighed and closed the paper. "I wish I could get a job."

"What kind of job?"

"I don't know. A mailman, or something." He grinned at the thought, him walking from box to box with a satchel full of letters. "I'd get to go everywhere."

She snorted, smiling and shaking her head. "That's an awful lot of walking; looks like that mail man dream is going to have to wait."

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "I just feel so useless, sitting around all the time."

"You're not useless, Frankie."

"You're biased. You don't count."

She rolled her eyes and tied off the end, holding the shirt up to check her progress. "You keep me company."

"Yeah, but you did something before that."

"You mean high school?"

"You've been out of high school for nine months. What did you do all that time while I was still away?"

"What I do now, mostly." She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Just at my house instead."

"Your patents must hate me…"

"Why would they—"

"You're living here, with me, out of wedlock." He rolled his eyes. "Not that they liked me much before all this craziness."

"They liked you just fine." She sighed. "What's all this about, Frankie? You seem upset."

"I'm not…upset." His hands were folded in his lap. He wasn't looking at her.

"…No?"

"I just…I hate this, Jamia. What's even the point? I just sit around all day. My mom took up another job just to make ends meet. You're stuck here with me. I can't even _take a god-damn shower_ without having to sit down part way through."

"You're getting better—"

"Not quick enough." He shook his head before tucking it into his hands. "I hate living like this. I'm so sick of it. I miss going out. I miss the air. I miss my _friends_." His voice cracked and he stopped talking. He _wasn't_ going to cry. He _wasn't_.

"Dearest…" Jamia stood, reaching to touch him, but he shook his head and she pulled her hand away.

"The other day some kid was just skipping a hoop outside. Just skipping this hoop with a stick. But then the hoop went crashing into the mailbox and I thought I was going to _die_."

She knelt next to the arm of his chair, looking up at him. "Why did you think that?"

"Because it was _loud_ and I got scared." He ran his hands over his face but still didn't look at her. " _Nothing_ used to scare me. I used to be _fearless_."

"Frankie…" She sat her hand atop his. He didn't pull away, but didn't look at her either. He was fidgeting with something in his other hand.

"You don't want—"

"Don't." She squeezed his hand and this time he did turn to look at her. Tears brimmed her eyes. "Don't think for a minute that I don't want you, Frankie. I love you so much."

He shook his head. "You need someone better."

"I have exactly what I need, and it's you." She smiled and ran her thumb over the back of his hand before she stood up and kissed his forehead. "I'll go and make us some lunch, okay?"

He nodded weakly and rolled the silver slug in his hands.

 **April 1943**

Christa was washing her hands when the letter came. She almost forgot to dry her hands off, she was so excited. She hadn't heard from Ray in months. She tucked the envelope to her chest and sat down in the back corner of the infirmary to read it.

 _Christa,_

 _Tunisia has calmed down since we've been here. Every now and then, we hit some bumps, but everything has been consistent since Torch. You wrote that Frank was in your care at some point; We received a letter that he's home. Thank you for taking charge of him for the brief time you did. I've hear rumor we may be heading out of this area soon; with any luck, this move may bring us closer together. After all of this is over, I hope we'll be able to find each other. Your words give me hope and strength when I need them the most; at the very least, I owe you dinner and a dance for that. Best of luck. Keep safe._

 _Yours,_

 _Ray_

She smiled and ran her thumb over the curled Y at the bottom of the page. Sure, she'd been fond of him when they first met, but that was it. Once he left, she just wished he'd come back. It made her chest ache sometimes.

She didn't quite understand how those feelings formed, but it didn't really matter now. They were there.

She tucked the letter into her apron pocket and began her next walkthrough of the infirmary.

 _Z_ _ip._

 _Zing._

 _Clang!_

"Nice one, Mikey." Gerard patted Mikey's shoulder and Mikey lined the gun back up with his target and fired again.

 _Clang!_

Gerard smiled and Mikey lowered the gun, emptying the remaining bullets before propping it up in the shed.

"You're shooting has gotten so much better."

Mikey shrugged and pulled on his coat. "Guess so."

He had dark circles under his eyes. He still hadn't been sleeping after all this time.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nope." He unrolled up his sleeves.

 _That_ bothered Gerard more than anything. It had been six months and Mikey still hadn't said anything about when Frank had gotten shot. Sure, he asked how they thought Frank was doing and told stories when they talked about him, but he never talked about the incident. Gerard couldn't tell if he was blocking out or if he just didn't want to bring it up. Maybe it was both.

"Heard they made fresh soup for tonight."

"Great." Mikey tucked his hands in his pockets as they walked.

"Hopefully it won't be as bad as the last batch."

"Hope so."

Gerard tucked his hands in his pocket and stopped trying. Mikey hadn't said anything longer than a five-word sentence in over six months, and even that was rare. Two words were a lot more common these days. Was it getting worse? Should he talk to someone?

"Gee." Mikey turned. "I'm fine, okay?"

"Are you sure, because—"

"Yes." He smiled with the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure."

"Okay." Gerard nodded before pulling his brother into a hug. "Okay."

Mikey hugged him back, tucking his chin on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Gerard pulled out, smiling and fixing Mikey's glasses on his nose, the way he used to when they were younger. "I think so. I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be." Mikey shrugged. "I'm fine."

"Do you have any threes?"

"Nope—Go fish."

Frank drew from the pile and tucked the new card into his hand.

"Any sevens?"

"Go fish."

She drew a card and blew her bangs out of her eyes. "This game is better with more people."

"I bet mom would play with us when she got home."

She chuckled and shook her head. "Do you have any twos?"

He slid the cards across the table and she folded them into a neat stack.

"It feels like we're kids again, playing cards at the kitchen table." She smiled. "Listening to the radio."

"Yeah." He nodded.

Then the phone started to ring.

"I'll get it." He pulled himself up from the chair and crossed to the phone with ease—picking it up and holding it to his ear. "Iero, residence."

"Oh, Mr. Iero! I didn't expect you to answer!"

He rolled his eyes. It was Shelby, the overly energetic secretary at the clinic Frank had been going to for his leg. Of course, now that he was walking without a limp and completely on his own, he hadn't been going in regularly anymore.

"I was just calling to confirm your appointment tomorrow." She prattled on.

"Yeah, I'll be there."

"Excellent!" He could hear a pencil scratching against paper, probably ticking off boxes or whatever she did at her desk all day. "Any changes we should be aware of?"

"Nope." He leaned against the counter. "Everything is fine. I just need paperwork so I can head back."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Iero. Have a lovely afternoon!"

"Thanks." He put the phone back on the receiver.

"Who was that?"

He crossed back to the table and scooped up his cards. "Just Shelby from the clinic."

"Right, your appointment." She was rearranging her cards. "Do you need me to go with you?"

"I don't think so. Do you have any Fours?"

She handed them over.

"…You said something about papers to go back."

He stacked the set of fours on the table. "I did."

"Go back where, Frankie?"

He cut his eyes up at her, "It's your turn."

She stared at him wide eyed for a moment before lowering her cards. "Frank, you aren't seriously going back."

"Of course, I'm going back. The war isn't over yet."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" she dropped her cards on the table, folding her arms over her chest.

"I was."

"When? They day before you boarded a train? Or were you just going to leave me a note?"

"Jamia—"

"When, Frank?" She was clenching her fists. Her knuckles were white.

"Once I got the papers." He still held his cards. He wanted her to pick hers up. He wanted to finish the game.

"So, tomorrow, then? Were you going to ask how I felt about it?"

"I didn't last time; I figured this wasn't any different."

"Of course, this is different!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Did you forget what happened last time? What about your nerves?"

"It's gotten better." He pressed. "Jamia, you're making a big deal over no—"

"If you say nothing, I'm leaving."

He stopped talking, looking at her over the table.

"It's not nothing." She folded her hands in her lap. "I don't want to lose you, Frankie."

"You're not going to." He smiled shyly. "I promise. I'll be home before you know it."

She didn't look at him, just kept her hands in her lap.

"Jamia?"

She sighed. "There's no stopping you, is there?"

He shrugged. "I mean, I've already made up my mind."

She shook her head. "You're the biggest mule I've ever met, Frank Iero."

"Yeah…"

"Those better be some friends you have."

"They are."

"And they better be coming to our wedding."

He laughed. "They will."

She sighed and picked her cards back up. "Do you have any jacks?"

"Go fish."

 **June 1943**

Bob wasn't one to ever say he was excited or relieved; the "Jersey Boys" as everyone insisted on calling them became aware of that fact upon meeting him. But even Bob was excited to be back at a base for a month, rather than sleep in the sweltering jungles of Tunisia, hoping there weren't malaria-ridden mosquitos in their tent.

He'd somehow managed to sleep through most of the journey back by boat, though he didn't miss Mikey's infamous show of affection for solid land when they docked.

The base felt familiar, almost like home. Summer air rustling through trees, doing runs with the sun pissing down on them, drills before dawn—Bob was seriously looking forward to things being routine again.

And having an easier time finding new reading material never hurt.

"Jersey boys, just down the hall." Schechter pointed.

Bob rolled his eyes. He'd pretty much given up on correcting people that he wasn't from Jersey; when the war was over, he'd probably end up spending a good bit of time there with the guys anyways.

"I'm going to sleep for, like, a thousand years." Ray adjusted his bag on his shoulder as they headed down the hallway.

"That sounds nice." Mikey said, following close behind.

Gerard was the one that opened the door, stopping in the doorway.

Bob ran into him full on, nearly knocking him over.

"What the hell, Way?"

But then he saw. Frank was sitting in the window, legs curled beneath him, munching on an apple. He turned to look, smiling before springing up from his spot. "Hey guys!"

"Frankie, you…" Gerard's voice was caught in his throat. He swallowed thickly. "You all see him too, right?"

There was a chorus of "Yeah"s and "Yes"s before they all got the rest of the way into the room.

Mikey got to Frank first, pulling him into his arms and talking so low no one else could quite hear him. After a minute, Frank said "Yeah, I am" and patted Mikey on the back. Mikey pulled away, smiling.

They each took their turn, hugging Frank, telling him that it was good to have him back. All except Gerard, who still stood dumbly in the doorway, not quite sure what he wanted to do.

"Gee?" Ray had let go of Frank, and now he was looking at Gerard expectantly. His hair had gotten longer, almost long enough to fall into his eyes if he didn't push it away. He hadn't been limping when he walked, which was good. He was almost glowing, and Gerard didn't know how, but he looked good.

"Gerard?" Frank asked again, stepping closer this time. "You're spacing out on me."

Gerard swallowed again before clearing his throat. "What're you doing here? I thought they sent you home."

"War's not over yet." Frank shrugged and did that half-smile thing Gerard didn't know how to deal with. "Besides, it'll take more than one bullet to put me out for the count."

Gerard smiled back and looked at his toes.

It was Frank who moved, wrapping his arms around Gerard like he'd done with everyone else.

"I missed you." He whispered. "So much."

Gerard tensed a moment before hugging Frank back. "I missed you too."

Frank pulled away, smiling up at Gerard before bouncing back into the room. "So what do you guys wanna do tonight? Play cards? Go get a drink?"

"Actually, we're all pretty tired." Ray said. Mikey yawned as he said it, nodding his head.

"Oh," Frank looked at his toes. "That makes sense. You guys have been on a boat for…three days, I think Schechter said."

Bob nodded, lowering himself into his bunk. "That's right."

"You must be tired then." Frank sounded a little disappointed, but he understood.

"Tomorrow." Mikey smiled, slapping Frank on the shoulder before heading to his own bunk. "We'll definitely do something tomorrow."

"Sure." Frank smiled and sat back at the window. "I promise not to make too much noise while you guys sleep."

"Appreciate it." Ray was in his bed now, too, only kicking off his shoes before tucking himself under the covers.

Gerard didn't talk about his dreams, especially the ones he had after Frank got back. They weren't like Mikey's restless scenes he saw in sepia or Frank's all too vivid dreams in color that woke him up screaming.

No, Gerard's dreams weren't anything like that.

They were smoky and sexy and unclear. He'd only get a flash every now and then—wispy blonde hair falling over sloped shoulders, tattooed knuckles blurring against his skin, a gold band with a diamond tucked into the center, green eyes the color of springtime. Sometimes looking more like his wife, sometimes looking more like his friend. They were the Frankenstein's monster of wet dreams, and they always woke him with a dry mouth.

He stared at the under-side of Frank's bunk, panting softly with his arm tossed over his forehead. He felt hot, even with all his covers kicked off. He silently thanked God that he'd never been one to talk or make noises in his sleep—there's no telling what would have come out of his mouth for his roommates to hear.

He sat up, patting his jacket pocket down for his pack of cigarettes before pulling them out along with a box of matches.

He stood, only in his undershirt and boxers and headed for the door, deciding some fresh air and a cigarette might do him good.

"Gee?"

He froze when he heard Frank's voice followed by his feet hitting the floor.

"Going out for a smoke?"

Gerard swallowed and nodded, still facing the door. "Yeah; I can't sleep."

"Me either…Can I come with?"

Gerard didn't have an actual reason to say no, so he nodded and tugged open the door. Frank followed him out to the hallway balcony. They both stepped out, Gerard shaking his pack a few times before handing one to Frank and pulling out one for himself. He struck a match, lighting his own cigarette before lighting the end of Frank's. When he shook the match out, he caught a glimpse of a smudge peeking out from the hem of Frank's boxers.

"Isn't that where your bullet wound was?"

Frank looked down before nodding. "Yeah; I got it inked over."

"What did you get?"

Frank lifted the hem of his boxers just enough for Gerard to make out the words.

"'Live each day as if it were your last'." Gerard wanted to run his fingers over it like he had with Frank's 'Keep the Faith' a year ago. Could that really have only been a year? It felt like they'd lived lifetimes since then.

"Mhm." Frank nodded, flicking ashes over the edge of the balcony. "I like it better than the scar."

"Did you keep the slug?"

"Absolutely." Frank untucked a chord from beneath his t-shirt to reveal the slug hanging from it.

"Why?"

"Makes me feel better, I guess." He ran his thumb over it.

Gerard blew out a smoke ring before looking up at the stars. It made him think of that night at the bar. Made him think of the way Frank had kissed him. Did he even remember that? Was he too drunk to remember?

"You can see the stars so much better here." Frank was looking up at them, too.

"You should have seen the ones in Tunisia. No lights anywhere; they didn't even know what it was to have a polluted sky."

"Wish I could have seen it."

"I could probably draw it if I thought about it hard enough."

"You should try." Frank smiled over at him, pinching off the end of his cigarette before tossing it over the edge of the balcony.

"Maybe I will." Gerard pinched his out and did the same.

They both looked up at the stars again.

"Hey, Frankie?" Gerard leaned forward on the railing, turning to look at Frank. "Do you remember when we went drinking before that mission?"

"I was so wasted." Frank mused, still looking at the stars. "Why?"

"Do you remember…" Gerard swallowed, looking back up at the stars with Frank. "Do you remember what you said to me that night?"

"Something about stars, and how you're warm." Frank chuckled to himself. "My drunken babble."

"Is that all you remember?"

"I…" Frank blinked. "There was something else, wasn't there?"

Gerard nodded.

Frank thought for a moment, chin in his hand, looking up at the stars. The air was thick with the sound of cicadas and summer crickets.

Frank thought a moment more before shaking his head. "No, that doesn't seem right."

"What?"

Frank looked at him. "I want to say I kissed you. But I wouldn't do that I don't—" he stopped when he looked into Gerard's face. "Oh my God, I did kiss you."

"You did." Gerard suddenly felt shy. "I never got around to asking you why, though."

Frank sighed, looking back up at the stars. "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You were drunk."

"My judgement isn't exactly the best when I'm sober, either." Frank sighed. "Fuck, Gee, what do you want me to say?"

"You don't have to say anything." Gerard looked down. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

Then Frank was standing incredibly close.

Gerard felt like he should take a step back, but he didn't want to.

"I'm not drunk now."

Gerard swallowed. "You said your judgement wasn't the best sober, either."

"You're right." But Frank hadn't stepped away. "How's yours?"

"I don't know."

"Am I too close?"

"No." Gerard's eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at Frank.

Frank's mouth ghosted over his; feather light and smoky, not hot and bitter like the first time. It was only a moment, and Gerard wasn't sure if it was a part of another one of his dreams.

When he opened his eyes, Frank was looking up at him, not smiling but not frowning; lips still parted. Gerard leaned in, pressing their mouths together again. He had to make sure this wasn't a dream. Frank's lips were chapped, but gentle. He tasted like Gerard's cigarettes.

Frank pulled out, looking up at him. "Did you ask me if I remembered just so I'd kiss you again?"

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since it happened."

"Of course, you haven't." Frank shook his head. "Was that better than the first time?"

Gerard nodded. "I don't know what it means."

"Me either."

"That's okay."

 **September 1943**

"I don't want to."

"Mikey, please?" Frank was hanging off the edge of his bunk, head back. "We didn't do anything for your birthday last year."

"And we'll be fine doing the same thing this year."

"You might as well stop trying, Frankie." Gerard looked up from his sketchbook. Mikey had started talking more again since Frank was back, which was good. "Mikey is almost as stubborn as you."

Frank offered a "Pssh" before turning back to Mikey. "It doesn't have to be anything big. We could just go to that bar a few blocks away; the one we used to go to."

"I don't know, Frank." Mikey turned the page in one of Frank's comic books.

"Is that place even still open?" Bob looked up from his book. "It hasn't burned to the ground or anything."

"Frank and I were there last week, so I don't think so." Gerard closed his sketchbook.

"You went without us?" Ray raised his brows. "I thought you weren't much of a drinker, Gerard."

He was right. Gerard wasn't. But Frank had wanted to go, and Gerard didn't savor the idea of Frank drinking alone. Plus, the heated kisses they'd exchanged against the back-alley wall has somehow made the entire ordeal worth it.

"We're just blowing off some steam." Frank grinned and winked at Gerard, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Right, Gee?"

Gerard's face flushed and he nodded. He loved and hated the way Frank could get him so riled without even really trying.

"Mail call!" Wentz poked his head in with a bundle of letters, pressing them into Gerard's hand. "You wanna pass them out, Way?"

Gerard closed his hand around the bundle. "Thanks, Pete."

He flicked through the bundle and passed them out. "Mikes, you got something from Mom."

"What is it?" He swung off his bunk, coming over.

"Package of some sort."

Mikey pulled it into his hand.

Gerard turned a letter from Lindsey over in his hand. He looked up at Frank to see he was doing the same with a letter from Jamia. He'd felt weird about letters from his wife ever since…well, ever since Frank…he would say that it was ever since he got back, but it might have even been before then. He loved Linsey, he did, but Frank was…Gerard just didn't know what to do about any of it. Judging by the way Frank was looking at the letter from Jamia, he was in a similar predicament.

"She sent me my train car from home…" Mikey smiled, running his thumb over it. "Gee do you remember when we made this?"

Gerard nodded. "I do."

"She sent one for you, too." Mikey reached in and produced another before handing the little car to Gerard. He smiled, rolling it in his fingers.

"Why do you guys always buy me toys?" Mikey asked. "I'm twenty-one, not ten."

Gerard shrugged. "Guess Mom and I aren't ready for you to grow up just yet."

"Then let's be grown-ups, Mikes." Frank grinned again, "Let's go drinking, please?"

"You never give up, do you?" Mikey sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Not in my nature." Frank tucked the letter into a drawer.

"Fine. We'll go."

Mikey was even less into the bar than Gerard had been in the past. Ray and Bob were getting into some kind of music debate. Gerard and Frank had gone off…he didn't even know where. And that just left him, nursing his gin and tonic, turning the glass in his hand boredly.

Worst birthday ever.

"Excuse me?" Someone tapped his shoulder.

He turned. A pretty girl was smiling at him, her blonde hair twisted into a loose knot on the left side of her head. Her eyes were smoky.

Maybe not the worst birthday ever.

"Hullo." She grinned, tucking a stay wisp of hair behind her ear.

"Hi."

"Haven't seen you around here before." She stood next to him, running her fingertips over his shoulder. "Are you new?"

"To the area, not so much."

"And to drinking?"

He shrugged. "Not so much."

She giggled. "What're you having?"

"Gin and tonic."

Her nose crinkled up. "Gross."

"A little." He shrugged.

"Haven't found your drink yet?"

"Not really."

She smiled and waved to the bartender. "Can I get two Stingers, Jeph?"

"Sure thing, Miss Colby." The bartender smiled.

Mikey raised his brows. "'Miss Colby?'"

"That's my name, but you can call me Kristin."

"Mikey, um, Way."

The bartender sat their drinks down.

"Well, Mikey Um Way." She took hold of her glass. "What should we toast to?"

He cleared his throat, picking up his drink as well. "It's my birthday."

"Okay."

"But I don't want to toast to that."

"Hm…" she smiled. "What about…new things."

He grinned and clinked his glass to hers. "New things."

They both took a sip, and Mikey didn't cringe when he did.

"Better?"

"Much." He grinned. "Thanks."

"Anytime." She was smiling again, taking another sip of her drink. "So, did you come here all alone for your birthday, or…?"

"My team dragged me out here." He shrugged. "I didn't really want to, but…they insisted."

"And, where are they?"

"Well, two are there." He leaned back so that she could see. "And then my brother and the other one have recently disappeared."

"I see." She took another sip from her drink. "So, do you mind if I keep you company a while?"

He took a sip of his drink, too, before setting it back on the bar. "Not at all."

Gerard felt like he'd stopped breathing. The area was tight and hot and dirty and slick. He gripped Frank's tie tight in his fingers, but the fabric was getting harder to hang on to. He hated whiskey, but loved the way it tasted on Frank's tongue. Frank wasn't drunk, he'd barely had half a glass before he was pushing Gerard somewhere dark and private—or at least as private as you could get in a bar. Which meant the men's room.

The stall was small, but Gerard didn't care. Frank was palming Gerard's crotch through his pants, and his lungs flat out refused to function.

"Someone's a little excited…" Frank murmured against his jaw.

"Hah…hah…fuck…" Gerard's eyes cinched shut.

Frank rolled the heel of his hand harder against Gerard's crotch, looking Gerard in the face and smirking. "How's that feel?"

"Fuck, Frankie…" Gerard whined, pressing his forehead against Frank's, eyes still tightly closed. "So good…"

Frank sealed off Gerard's noises, melding their mouths together again. Part of him wanted to pull Gerard out of his pants and stroke him slowly until he was a writhing mess, but they didn't have time for that here. They never had time for that anywhere.

Palming him roughly through his pants was just going to have to work.

He squeezed just right and Gerard came, breath hitching into Frank's mouth.

"Fuck…" He leaned his forehead against Frank's shoulder and panted. "You're insanely good at that."

"Nah, you're just easy." Frank chuckled.

Gerard rolled his eyes, standing upright and attempting to straighten himself up. "I'm going to chafe again."

"Sorry." And Frank sounded like he meant it.

"Want me to take care of you?"

"Nah, s'okay." Frank grinned his lopsided grin. "I owed you from a few weeks ago."

Gerard blushed at the memory.

"C'mon. Let's head back before the guys really wander where we got off to."

"So you're from America, too?"

"Yeah." Kristen nodded as they danced in a small circle, his hand clasped at her lower back and hers gripping his shoulder.

"So, what brought you here?"

"Same thing that brought you." She half shrugged. "That brings everyone."

"You're a nurse?"

She shook her head. "I intercept and transcribe German transmissions; though no one really decodes them yet."

"That's amazing."

"It pays for my apartment."

"But why not do something from home? Why cross an ocean?"

"I've always wanted to see more than home had to offer."

He smiled. "You're amazing."

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You've already got me out on the dance floor, Mikey."

"You made my whole night, you know. The least I could do is pay you a compliment."

He cheeks flushed and she looked down a moment before smiling back up at him. "You're pretty amazing, yourself."

And then she kissed him.

It was just a peck, but he didn't want it to stop.

The song ended and she slid her fingers away from him. "Perhaps we'll see each other again, Mikey Um Way."

 **November 1943**

The room was full of people Ray didn't really recognize. They'd organized some kind of ball for all of the military personnel, and right now it mostly just felt like his high school prom all over again. To be blunt, his prom had sucked. His prom date had left him to go and make out with some guy on the basketball team under the bleachers. It wasn't exactly an experience he liked to relive.

Mikey had gone off to dance with the blonde girl he'd met at the bar a few months back. Their foreheads were close; they spoke so low only they could hear each other. Ray thought it was kind of cute; Mikey had actually been smiling the past couple of weeks.

"You want another drink, Toro?" Bob asked, picking Ray's empty glass up from it's spot on the floor next to his shoe.

"Nah, Bob, it's okay."

Bob shrugged and lumbered off, leaving Ray alone in their hiding place against the back wall. He wondered how long it would be before he could sneak out of here. He just wanted to go to bed.

The song the band was playing ended and everyone clapped, including him, absently bringing his hands together, eyelids heavy.

"Excuse me, Sir, but it seems you don't have a partner." A voice spoke above him. "Care to join me?"

"I'm not much of a dancer," he said, still looking at the floor.

"Oh, you can't be that bad."

He wanted the girl to go away. He looked up to tell her so and then everything inside of him dried up.

"I'd recognize this mop of yours anywhere." Christa grinned before sitting down next to him. "Thought it looks good back like this."

"Christa?" He blinked at her still confused. "I didn't have that much to drink…you're an ocean away…"

She shook her head. "They said they needed me more in Paris—though I did convince my superior to let me take a bit of a detour."

"So, you're really here?"

She laughed and sat her hand atop his. "Of course, I am, Ray."

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hugging her close. She tensed at first, but then relaxed into his embrace.

It felt good to be close to someone like this.

"Do you know when?"

"Not yet." Mikey circled his fingers against the small of her back. "And even if I did, I don't think I'm allowed to say."

"Right." She smiled up at him. "Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"You'll write me, won't you?"

He laughed. Their foreheads were pressed together again. "Of course, I will."

She smiled and brushed her nose against his. "I'm so glad I met you."

"I'm glad I met you, too."

"You're a lovely dancer, Mr. Way."

"Oh, you're too kind." He smiled and held his arm out, letting the girl twirl under the bridge he'd made before setting his hand back against her waist.

"Where'd you learn to dance so well?"

"My wife."

"She's quite lucky."

The girl was young; dark red hair cut off at her shoulder. She'd been friendly, not flirtatious. Just looking for someone to spend the ball with.

"You said you work in weaponry?"

"Oh, yes," She nodded, smiling. "I help with ammunition shipments, mostly."

"Sounds stressful."

"What isn't these days?"

He laughed and the song ended, everyone clapping for the band.

"Care for another dance, Mr. Way?"

"Oh, I'd love to, but I have an errand to run before I head back to the base tonight."

"I understand." She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the dances."

He smiled back, kissing the back of her hand before letting her go. He walked back towards the far wall where he and the guys had started out when the ball first began, but everyone was gone now, even Bob had disappeared to amuse himself.

"Hey, stranger."

He smiled when Frank came up behind him. Gerard wrapped his arm around Frank's shoulder and they started to walk.

"That doll you were dancing with was awfully pretty." Frank feigned conversation.

"Yours wasn't so bad either."

They walked a few more paces before Gerard dropped his arm from Frank's shoulder.

Frank raised his brow. "Everything okay?"

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" It was hard to see Gerard's face right in the dim light of the street. "What if the captain finds out we didn't come back tonight?"

"I feel like a lot of people won't be coming back tonight, Gee. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"But—"

"I already booked a room and everything." Frank smiled. "As long as we don't walk in together or out together, no one is going to know."

Gerard hated they way they had to sneak around. Hated the way that they had to hide.

"If you don't want to, it's okay—"

"It's not that I don't want to." Gerard sighed. "It's that it makes me nervous, is all."

"You don't have to be nervous, Gee." Frank offered him a lopsided half-smile. "I'm right here with you."

Gerard couldn't help but smile back. "I know."

Christa sat with her head on Ray's shoulder. His head was atop hers, their hands knotted together between the two of them.

They'd ended up staying up the whole night walking the streets together and just talking. Unfortunately, her train was leaving early the next morning.

"I wish I could stay longer." She whispered, turning to nuzzle her face into his shoulder.

"Nothing would have been long enough."

She smiled sadly and looked up at him.

"You're got snow in your hair."

"So do you."

She started trying to get it out of his curls, but to no avail. They were laughing all over again before he caught hold of her hands, holding both of them between their bodies again.

The whistle on the train blew, steam shooting through the air.

"All aboard!"

She pulled herself away gently, trailing her hand along his cheek. "I have to go."

"I know." He whispered, getting up to keep her in arms-length as she crossed the platform.

She turned to look at him, setting her hands on either side of his face before standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss against his mouth. He set his hands against her wrists, pressing back before gently pushing her away.

"You have to go."

"I'll find you." She pulled her stick pin from her lapel and pressed it into his hand. "After the war, I promise I'll find you."

He nodded. "I won't stop looking until I see you again."

She stepped onto the train, looking back at him before handing the conductor her ticket and making her way to her seat.

The sunlight was what woke Mikey the next morning. He blinked awake, sitting up slowly to realize that he wasn't in his room back at the base. The sound of the radio echoed from somewhere down the hall. He could hear Kristin humming along to it.

He stood, pulling his pants and jacket on. He didn't bother with his tie, tucking it into his pocket before walking out of the room.

"Morning, sleepy head." She smiled, putting out her cigarette in the ashtray on her dining table.

"I didn't mean to sleep so late."

"It's alright." She got up, crossing over to him before sliding her hands against his lapel. "I take it you have to go?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Okay." She smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth before walking him to the door. "And you'll write me. You promised."

He laughed, turning to kiss her forehead as she pulled the door open. "Of course, I will."

She pulled him in for another kiss before watching him go down the stairs.

Gerard couldn't get over how beautiful Frank's tattoos were—of course, Frank was probably the beautiful one; the tattoos were just a nice touch. He was curled at Frank's side, tracing the wings of one of his sparrows while Frank had his arm up in the air, dragging his fingers through the dust filled light beams that spilled into the hotel room.

"We should get up soon." Gerard whispered against Frank's ribs, tracing his thumb over the little flame on his chest now.

"Not yet." Frank closed his eyes and let his arm drop back to his stomach.

"I don't want us to get in too much trouble."

"It's Sunday, we won't."

Gerard slid his fingers through Frank's and closed his eyes, too. This room didn't feel real. Nothing did. The smoke, the tattoos, the sweat, the scratchy sheets, the dust beams. It was a dream. It was hazy. This war, everything was somewhere between real and not real, and lately Gerard had been having a harder and harder time telling which one it was.

"I miss home." He said absently.

"I miss parts." Frank sighed and sat up, reaching for a cigarette.

Gerard thought about the way Frank had Jamia's name tattooed above his heart. He tried not to think about it. But then his wedding band felt heavy and he cinched his eyes shut.

"What are we going to tell them?"

Frank clicked his lighter shut and blew out a puff of smoke, leaning back against the headboard. "Tell who?"

"You're fiancée, my wife…" He swallowed thickly. "What are we going to tell them?"

"I don't plan on _telling_ them anything. It's not really their business."

"Isn't it though?"

"No." Frank turned to look at Gerard. "Jamia and I are still getting married."

"I wasn't asking—"

"Doesn't mean I want to stop necessarily." Frank flicked ashes against the nightstand. "Is that going to bother you?"

"Isn't that what we're already doing?"

"Don't you think it's better off this way?"

Gerard thought about it a moment before nodding.

Frank smiled. "I have something for you."

"Yeah."

Frank reached behind him, pulling the leather chord off over his head and slipping it over Gerard's. The slug rested just over Gerard's heart. Gerard picked it up and turned it in his fingers. "Frankie, are you sure?"

"I have a lucky bullet wound to keep me safe." He put out his cigarette and slid down to lay on his side facing Gerard. "Now you have my lucky slug to keep you safe."

Gerard closed his fist around the little silver slug and pressed his mouth against Frank's like it was his lifeline.

 **June 1944**

This reminded Mikey so much of the day Frank had been shot nearly two years prior. The air was thick with salt and the boat was lurching in such a way that he knew he was going to be sick—a few other soldiers already had, just a few rows behind him. The boat was packed. He could see Gerard a few rows away, and Frank a row or so behind Gerard. Bob and Ray were on the other side of the boat. No one spoke.

He could see the beach from here, gray and daunting. He closed his eyes, trying not to puke.

"Gate's coming down soon!" That was Schechter's voice from the back of the boat. "Get ready!"

Mikey took a deep breath. The boat lurched as it hit a sandbar.

He thought of Kristin's face. She was probably intercepting German messages right now, taking them to someone so they could attempt to be decoded. He thought of his mother, at home with her dog, Lucy, who he still hadn't met.

He opened his eyes again.

The gate came open. Water crashed into the boat.

They ran.

Gerard hated running in sand as much as he hated running in mud—maybe even a little bit more. Shots rang out through the air, He'd made it off the boat and ducked against one of the Czech Hedgehogs that lined the beach, and turned to look back at the ocean where soldiers still ran off the boat. But the water was blood red, bodies floating. Most of them hadn't even made it off the boat.

Gerard turned away and fought the urge to retch.

The metallic ring of machine guns came from further up the beach, tearing through soldiers who hadn't even made it out of the water yet.

Mikey. Where was Mikey?

Bob and Frank where at the hedgehog with him, Bob pressed against the back and Frank hunkered down in the sand.

 _Where was Mikey?_

One of the boats had caught fire, the soldiers running off ablaze. Some of them dove back into the ocean, trying to douse the flames. Others ran up the beach, unsure of what to do.

"Make it up the beach, we have to move!" Schechter barked, pulling up one soldier by his pack. Dirt was caked to his glasses.

It was Mikey.

"Where the hell are we supposed to go?" Bob shouted back at Schechter. "These fuckers are going to shred us!"

Schechter dropped Mikey at another hedgehog, leaning back against it.

That was when the explosions started.

Bits of soldiers were flying. Everyone was screaming.

"Gee we have to _move!_ " Frank tugged his arm and they ran, Bob leading them through the chaos.

Their backs hit the sandbar. Gerard panted for a clear breath.

He couldn't hear. The guns were so loud; he couldn't hear anything.

 _Mikey. Where's Mikey?_

He sat up, opening his eyes. Mikey was still behind the hedgehog, but Schechter was gone. His top half lay a few yards from Mikey.

Mikey knew what this was. He was hyperventilating. It had happened before when he was just a kid. After he'd fallen off his bike and broken his arm he started hyperventilating. But this was worse.

It was like inhaling needles. Or wasps. Or his mother's hairspray, but on fire.

Schechter's eyes were still open, intestines spilling out over the sand.

Mikey closed his eyes. He had to get a grip. He had to get further up the beach. He had to get to Gerard.

He opened his eyes. Everything boomed and smelled like gunpowder and burning flesh. He took a deep breath. And then another. And another.

He kicked off the ground into a run.

"Mikey!" That was Gerard. He didn't stop running. "Mikey!"

And then he wasn't running anymore. He was on the ground. He couldn't hear anything anymore, but something wasn't right. Something wasn't right at all. It hurt. He didn't even know what hurt, but it felt like it was leaching everything from him.

"Mikey!" Gerard didn't know how to yell any louder. His words got lost between firing and bullet shells hitting the sand. "Mikey!"

Mikey needed to take cover. He needed to get down they were going to—

Mikey collapsed and Gerard felt like all of the air left his body, but now he was trying to get up. He felt to pairs of hands holding him back.

"Mikey!"

He heard Mikey scream.

Gerard stopped breathing all together.

He fought harder against Frank and Bob's hands, but they held him down.

Ray was there. Ray would fix it. Ray had fixed Frank, so he was going to be able to fix Mikey.

Right?

Ray's hands were shaking. They were already slick with blood and saltwater. He couldn't get the bandages to unroll. He couldn't get his hands to stop shaking.

He gave up trying to unroll it and pressed the entire pack against Mikey's bullet wound. It didn't look like it had gone all the way through. He'd have to get out his tools. He had to get the bullet out.

But first he had to get the bleeding to stop.

Mikey was still screaming.

"I've got you!" Ray shouted, pulling the bandage away briefly to check. He hadn't stopped bleeding. He pressed back. "Come on, Mikey, stay with me!"

Then Mikey went still.

Fuck.

Frank slid one hand from Gerard's chest to the top of his helmet, cradling his head close.

Mikey's eyes were still open, but he wasn't moving.

Gerard had stopped screaming Mikey's name. He was barely breathing or making any noise now.

"Gerard." Frank half shouted into Gerard's helmet. "Gerard, I'm right here. Stay with me. Stay with me."

Some kid was on the beach a few feet from Mikey, laying on his back. Bullets had shredded him open, guts spilling out of his top, but somehow, he was still alive. He was crying out for his mom.

"Gerard, right here. Look at me." Frank turned his face, but Gerard's eyes were out of focus. "Look at me. Stay with me. We're gonna make it."

Ray was next to them now on the sandbank.

Bob looked over Gerard and Frank at him.

"What are we going to do?"

None of them had an answer.

 **December 1944**

Gerard didn't remember anything after that. He didn't remember how he got off the beach, where they went, how he got home. He didn't remember Mikey's funeral. Didn't remember what his mother or wife said to him when they saw him or where they picked him up from. He barely remembered the six months that had passes since he'd been home.

He lay on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Lucy, his mother's dog lay curled up at his side, her head against his stomach. He didn't speak.

"Gerard, Honey?" Lindsey poked her head in the door. She was pregnant now, the small swell of her stomach just beginning to show beneath her sweater. Gerard kind of remembered that. She'd been comforting him a few months ago, and one thing had led to another…he hated that he didn't remember it clearly. He'd always wanted to be a father before, but now he hardly managed to get out of bed or remember to eat something. He almost never slept. He had nightmares when he slept. And the ones that weren't nightmares were worse, because he'd wake up and remember that Mikey was gone.

"Do you want to come with me to the market? We can pick up some of that paper you like for drawing." She smiled and twisted her hair up into a knot behind her head.

"I should…" He lost his thought and went to sit up. "What day is it?"

"Sunday."

"How long has it been since I left the house?"

"Three weeks." She didn't sound disappointed or angry, just a little sad. "Do you want to come with me?"

He nodded slowly. "Let me get dressed."

She smiled. "Alright. I'll meet you downstairs."

It took him nearly an hour, but he managed to meet her in the living room. They walked side by side, her arm looped through his. She talked to him as they walked, telling him about her job at the newspaper and baby names they might choose. Snow billowed through the air. No wonder she'd decided to come to the market today; it was the first break in the blizzard for weeks, and who knows when it would pick up again.

He caught her words in clusters of fours and sixes; not always full sentences. Sometimes it was just the middle. Sometimes it was the end of one and the beginning of another. He'd nod his head. He used to try to smile, but it made her sad, so he'd stopped doing that.

"You're due a shave." She smiled and ran a thumb over his cheek one they walked into the store. "Looking a little grizzly."

He shrugged.

"I ran into Mr. Morrison the other day." She was looking at the apples, picking them up one at a time and checking them for bruises before tucking some back and putting others in the bag. "He said that if you're up to it, they'd really liked to have you back at Detective Comics."

"He did?"

"Wouldn't that be nice?" She smiled and led him to the next booth.

"Nice…"

She was looking at loaves of bread now, feeling them with her hands.

She went right on talking, but Gerard had started to space out again. He hadn't drawn anything in months. Any time he tried, he ended up staring at a blank page for hours before he'd give up and toss his sketchbook back into the corner of the room.

Everything was like that now.

Everything was full of blank pages.

It bothered Frank that Gerard hadn't written him back once in six months. He'd written Gerard letters every two weeks or so, even though he never got responses. Maybe Gerard just wasn't getting the letters. That had to be it. They were getting lost in the mail with all this snow that had been coming down.

That had to be it.

The silence was unbearable.

"You want to go to the bar, Frank?"

"Sure." He pushed himself up off his bunk.

"Oh, can I come, too?" Pete hung his head off the edge of his bunk.

Frank sighed. "Sure, Wentz. You can come, too."

Frank didn't mean to hate Pete, but he reminded him of Mikey. The way his eyes lit up and he was full of life. Bob and Ray sensed it, too, but they tried not to take it out on him too much. He wasn't the worst guy to have around. He appreciated tattoos the same way Frank did; they'd even gone to get ones together once or twice, which was fine as long as Pete managed to stop talking from time to time.

Bob tagged along, snow coming down hard as they walked into the bar. They tucked themselves into the back corner of the bar, as far away from the front door as they could.

Frank was on his fourth whiskey when Ray elbowed him hard.

"Jesus, what?"

"Doesn't that girl look familiar to you?"

Frank followed Ray's gaze to see where he was looking. The girl was blonde, a dark grey coat wrapped around her and an emerald tucked around her throat. When she turned, nursing her cocktail close to her chest, Frank recognized her.

"Isn't that Kristin?" He whispered.

"I think so." Ray sat his scotch down. "Should we go talk to her?"

"I don't know." Frank looked into his glass like it might have an answer for him. "She probably wants to be left alone."

"She looks so sad…"

Frank turned to look at Ray. He was twirling a stick pin in his fingers.

Frank sighed and stood, wiping his hands on his pants. "I'll ask if she wants to come sit with us."

His steps were a little uneven, but he walked over to the bar, sitting on the stool next to her.

"Kristin?"

She turned to look at him, setting her glass down. "Do I know you?"

"My name's Frank Iero, I knew—"

"You knew Mikey." She smiled sadly before looking back at her drink. "Yes, a lot of you did, didn't you?"

"He was in my unit." Frank swallowed. His eyes stung. "He was one of the first people I met after we left Jersey almost four years ago. I was there when he…" He looked down. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay." She sat her hand atop his and smiled. "He was great."

"Yeah, he was." Frank sniffled, shaking his head. "I meant to come ask you if you wanted to come drink with us, not get all upset."

"How kind. Though, I must decline. I prefer to drink alone these days."

"I understand. Let me at least buy you something. What're you having?"

"A stinger." She held her half full glass up. "I'm fine, though. This is my last one."

"You're sure?"

She nodded. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Iero."

He stood offering her a smile. "You too, Kristin."

 **January 1946**

Gerard sat at his desk, bouncing Bandit on his lap.

"What do you think of Dr. Darwin, sweetie?"

"Dawin." She giggled, shaking her hands. "See? See?"

He held the picture up. "Yeah, there he is. Isn't he neat?"

"Neat." She giggled before turning to look at him. "Juice?"

"Juice sounds pretty good." He sat the picture down and stood, scooping her up. "Apple or grape?"

"Grape!"

He laughed and carried her down the stairs. "Okay, but you can't spill. Grandma just got a new table cloth."

"No spills." She nodded. "Promise."

"That's my girl." He grinned and sat her down at the table. He set down her glass of juice right as Lindsey came in the door, carrying a stack of mail.

"You got something in the mail." She sat it on the table before plopping a few of the bills against the counter. "Is that my big girl?"

Bandit giggled, setting her juice down carefully before getting down from her chair and running to her mother.

"And what have you been up to today?"

"Drawing with daddy."

"Really?" She looked up at Gerard. "You started drawing again?"

Gerard nodded. "I had an idea…thought maybe Mr. Morrison might pick it up."

"You're going back to work?" She smiled before pulling him into a hug. "Darling, that's great!"

He hugged her back. "I talked to Mr. Morrison on the phone a few days ago; he said I could come back as long as willing to start with some grunt work again; the job market has been a mess since the war ended."

"What was that you got in the mail?"

"I hadn't checked." He set his hand on the table to pick it up just as the phone rang. Lindsey went to get it.

Gerard turned the envelope over.

"Who from?" Bandit stood on her tiptoes, trying to see.

He smiled, rubbing her head. "An old friend of Daddy's."

He tore the envelope open, sliding the thick paper out.

' _You're invited to the wedding of Jamia Nestor and Frank Anthony Iero.'_

"You came!" Frank pulled Gerard into a hug. "I didn't think you would."

"Of course, Frankie." Gerard smiled, patting his back. "This is my wife Lindsey, and my daughter, Bandit."

Frank smiled, shaking Lindsey's hand and waving at Bandit.

"Gerard talked about you a lot when we were overseas." Then he stooped, "And you didn't tell me you had a daughter."

Bandit grinned, swaying and holding the skirt of her dress.

"She's got your nose."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Thankfully she mostly inherited her mother's looks."

Lindsey rolled her eyes.

"We're having the reception at my mother's house later." Frank smiled. "You'll come, right?"

"I think Lindsey has to work." Gerard turned to look at her, raising a brow. She nodded. "But Bandit and I would be happy to, wouldn't we?"

She nodded and giggled.

"Great. I'll see you inside."

Gerard smiled and waved before they headed inside the church.

"And he was in your unit with you?"

"He gave me this." Gerard hooked his thumb in the chord still hanging around his neck. "Good luck charm. And he and Mikey were close."

She smiled. "He seems nice."

"Yeah." Gerard looked down at Bandit, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, he is."


End file.
